


Pain Killer (I Can Handle It)

by SnowAndRayne



Series: Pain Killers [1]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blood and Injury, Depression, Dubious Consent, Eating Disorders, Fluff, Gore, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Impromptu Surgery, Incest, Loneliness, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Multiple, Pain, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, Surgery, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-04 15:01:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 39,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18606922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowAndRayne/pseuds/SnowAndRayne
Summary: Something is seriously wrong with Morty Smith and even though Rick Sanchez is a genius, even he is struggling to figure this one out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi Everyone!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading the very first chapter of my very first fan fiction. This is not something I have ever even considered doing before and until last year I had never even read a fan fiction so I hope this is well-received. 
> 
> This is of course a very very tame first chapter (sorry!) to a slow-burning, sexually tense, emotionally heavy story. But I have a pretty clear ending in mind, which I hope will be satisfactory. 
> 
> \- Snow

After Rick journeys to a local bar—and by local, it was somewhere between home and Jupiter, refilled his hip flask with his favourite concoction—he drives erratically around the milky way without a purpose or destination. Even though it’s freezing in the cockpit—the air conditioner working so hard Rick's breath comes in puffs of warm steam—the alcohol has stained Rick's cheeks red and he feels too hot, too flushed, and too dizzy with heat-exhaustion to think straight.  
  
But he needs this dammit!  
  
“What are you doing Morty?!” Rick had yelled at his frozen grandson. “There’s no time!” Rick remembers that gut-clenching feeling seeing Morty go still, his once-bright eyes staring into nothing while the virtual world dissolved around them. “Oh no. _No!_ ”  
  
Why did it hurt so much to see Morty dissolve like that? It wasn’t normal. Wasn’t rational or logical...  
  
But it _was_ dangerous.  
  
Rick then whirled around to stare daggers at the Zigerion Prince who guffawed loudly about how stupid Rick was, how clever he and his compatriots were, how much of an amazing ingenious mindfuck (it wasn’t) he had created while his equally foolish underlings smirked and jeered at Rick.

And Rick patiently listened.

  
Every word that dripped from the alien's shit-eating mouth only serving to damn him further.

 

“You simulated my grandson’s genitalia? Y-You diabolical sons of bitches!” Rick finally snapped.  
  
The Zigerions were the stupid ones. They had made a fatal mistake in _objectifying_ Morty like that. Rick had already decided that they were going to pay for abducting him and Morty, but now…  
  
Now they were going to pay with their _lives._  
  
And indeed, the deed was done in only a moment. In one cataclysmic boom the Zigerions were successfully wiped out, sending a loud message to all who dared even _consider_ using Morty that way, and leaving Rick drinking heavily and swerving wildly through an asteroid belt.  
  
_This is probably dangerous…_ Rick thinks dully.  
  
Naturally, it is far from unusual for Rick to casually down himself in liquor but doing so because of something like this is just plain ridiculous. Even Rick—who really has nothing to prove—must reluctantly admit that to himself. After all, it’s just Morty—one of infinite grandsons—why does he care if the Zigerions did something like that to him? Why does he care what the Zigerions think of Morty? Or _him_  for that matter?  
  
Rick smirks humourlessly. “Maybe I’m getting attached to the kid,” he says aloud to no one.

As Rick pulls into the driveway, he opens the vehicle door and flops out onto the hard asphalt along with several rattling liquor cans. His head swims and for a moment the ground beneath his head is very, _very,_ far away from his feet which seem to still be floating somewhere in space. Rick rolls himself onto his side and somehow manages to stagger to his feet, which after some wild swaying, are starting to get with the program and walk him into the house.

“MooOOORRtyyy…” he belches jovially as he ascends the stairs. He throws open the door to Morty’s bedroom and flicks on the light.

Morty blinks in the sudden brightness.

Rick smirks. “Hey Morty.”

“What?” Morty looks dazed but guarded.

“Hey, l-little buddy. H-h-how are you doing in here right now?” Rick asks him.

“Aw jeez, Rick. What are you doing, man?” Morty asks nervously.

“Y-y-you’re a good kid, Morty. Y-you’re a real l-little c-character…Morty…” Rick slurs. He affectionately rubs Morty’s hair.

Morty stares up at him apprehensively. “Oh boy…”

The look on Morty’s face makes Rick’s insides twist uncomfortably. Or maybe that’s just the bourbon.

“You know,” Rick muses, “I had a really rocky road today, M-Morty.” Morty just looks confused. Rick swallows drily, frustrated that he can’t seem to explain himself properly. The thoughts are there, clear as anything, but he can’t seem to make the words take shape. “You’re my little friend, aren’t you? We had some good times together…?” he slurs.

Morty’s eyes widen and he scoots up the bed slightly.

“You’re a real true hero out in the field. You’re a… you’re a real trooper, huh, M-M-Morty…” That’s not quite what Rick wanted to say but it’s close. It feels right though Morty isn’t reacting to the words the way Rick had imagined. Instead of smiling appreciatively, Morty just looks confused and more than a little uneasy.

“Have you been drinking, Rick?” Morty asks with concern.

 _Really? I tell him how important he is, and he assumes I’m drunk?_  Rick thinks angrily. _I mean… I_ am _, but that’s not the point!_

“I really appreciate you Morty!” Rick wants it to sound reassuring. Instead it comes out in a slurred drawl like a drunken come-on.

And of course Morty just _won’t_ cooperate. “Oh okay, cool. A-Alright, Rick.” Rick cringes inwardly at the way his grandson shuffles uncomfortably, his knees pressed tightly together, his eyes darting around nervously as if looking for an escape.  
  
Rick feels a sudden jolt of rage shoot through him.  
  
He _knows_ he’s in a simulation now. And if those Zigerions think Rick’s remotely interested in touching his grandson like _that,_ then they’ll get one hell of a show. He seizes the knife he has stashed in one of his many pockets and lunges at Morty, holding the blade to Morty’s throat, his fingers roughly pinching the hair at the nape of Morty’s neck as he cradles Morty’s head. Morty _must_ understand! The real Morty would. The real Morty is an attention-starved sentimental little idiot who would _love_ to hear these words of praise and affection. “You son of a bitch!” Rick shouts in Morty’s face. “Y-y-Are you a simulation? Huh? Are you a simulation?!”  
  
“No! No! No!” Morty’s cowering in terror.  
  
“You little son of a bitch,” Rick feels anger and vomit building up in his oesophagus. They simulated Morty’s genitals! Made him parade around naked! They made Rick _watch!_ And now Rick can’t get the sordid image out of his head! Can’t think of a single thing without the memory poisoning his thoughts like a virus. If he’s in another simulation, he _will_ kill any…  
  
…The room spins. He can only see Morty’s face – shocked and afraid with tiny red welts appearing where the knife is poised at his throat – and then as the alcohol pulls him under the other more horrific memory seeps into Rick’s mind: Morty frozen, his eyes glassy as he slowly disappears.  
  
The world around Rick begins fading into shadow…  
  
  
_Don’t disappear!_ Rick thinks with despair. _Don’t make me watch you disappear…  
_  
  
Morty’s hyperventilating, Rick can feel the boy’s pulse vibrating against the knife at his throat. Rick investigates Morty’s stunned innocent face and his grandson’s huge dark eyes bring him back from the impending black-out.  
  
_Oh Morty…_  
  
Slowly, gently, Rick lowers the knife.  
  
“I-I-I’m sorry, Morty. Y-y-you’re a good kid, Morty…” Rick eases off him. His brain hurts. The room throbs in and out of focus. The inside of Rick’s mouth feels horribly dry.  
  
Morty just stares at him in wide-eyed disbelief.  “Jeez…”  
  
“Y-You’re a good… a good kid…” the room spins again. Rick slides off the bed and feels the carpet hit his face.  
  
He remembers nothing else. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Rick walks awkwardly behind the other Rick, dragging his feet and staring blankly ahead.  
  
He’s tired.  
  
Tired of the pain. Tired of the fights and the constant running. Tired of self-denial and self-indulgence. Tired of the hollowness that is constantly being the smartest man in the room.

How many times has he considered the noose? How many times has he avoided stray bullets only to wonder why he bothered?

He’s worthless. A worn out, useless old man who lives a pointless existence in a pointless universe which is populated by beings even more worthless than he is. This is the kind of tiredness sleep can never fix.  
  
Hopefully this exchange will be over and done with quickly so he can go home and drink.

The other Rick isn’t looking at him.

“Where’s your Morty?” the other Rick asks disinterestedly.

“Left him at home,” Rick shrugs blandly, “seemed like the thing to do, y’know? Where’s yours?”  
  
“Don’t have one,” the other Rick replies. “We’re here.”  
  
“The Creepy –” Rick’s eyes widen. “Wait, what is this place?” he asks, but he already knows the answer.  
  
“D-d _ohhhh_ n’t think about it,” the other Rick replies as they enter the front doors.  
  
“Oh, come oh- _OH_ n, d-don’t give me that!” Rick complains, trying very hard for once in his life not to look curiously at his lurid surroundings. “We – we say that to Morties, not to – _eehhhp_ – to each other. This is… this is just sick!”  
  
“Huh. Imagine that.” The other Rick scoffs. “Trust y- _you_ n _oh_ t to see the forest through the trees.”

“Oh, I can see the forest just fine,” Rick rolls his eyes, “I’m just not – y-you-I dunno – a child molesting monster ‘s all.”

The other Rick’s lips curl into a toothy smile, which combined with the shine in his eyes makes Rick seriously uncomfortable. “This place was built by _Morties_ for Ricks. W-w-why do y’think they’d do that, huh?”

“No matter w-wha – how you justify it, it’s disgu- _eehhrp-_ sting,” Rick glares.

“W-whatever makes – makes you feel morally superior, man,” the other Rick smirks. The pair of them sit down in a booth near the back of the club. Rick’s just glad they’re not at a table with a pole on it.

They’re soon joined by a third Rick and a very thin, deathly pale Morty with budding facial hair and deep bags under his eyes. Both fresh and faded bruises stain the Morty’s exposed neck and arms. When they get closer, Rick notices a cut lip and a butterfly bandage over the boy’s right eyebrow.

Rick’s too sober for this.

“We’re here for the transaction,” the third Rick states. His eyes are narrow and cold.

“Yeah I figured,” Rick Sanchez rolls his eyes. “Look, I’ll give you what you want but if we’re gonna keep doing this you need to find a less off-putting venue in future. I... I… I don’t think a-any amount of eye ble- _eghh_ -each is going to erase the memory of this kind of de-debauchery. I mean, seriously man. W-what the hell?”

“ _This_ is Rick C-137?” the third Rick asks incredulously. The other Rick nods and the third Rick smirks.

“Yeah.” Rick confirms. “And when _I’m_ telling you this is a step too far, y-y-you know it’s pretty fucked up.”

Both the other Ricks look at each other and snicker knowingly.

Peeved, Rick stiffens in his seat and looks away with gritted teeth. “Just give me my money and let me go,” Rick spits. He hands over the goods and the other two Ricks depart.

As they leave, the Morty shoots him a longing look and the Rick he’s paired with hits him unnecessarily violently in the back of the head, muttering a gruff “c’mon,” as he drags the Morty away with a tight grip on the boy’s arm.

Rick watches the Morty walk away and notes the kid’s unsteady gait.

Disgusting.

He leaves The Citadel in a hurry.

When he arrives home, the house is empty. He spends some time in the garage but without Morty bothering him, he struggles to concentrate. The TV in the family room isn’t quite the same either without Summer’s annoying commentary. And where the fuck is Beth?

He swipes a light beer from the fridge and slumps heavily down on the couch in front of— what is this crap? ‘ _Vikings’?_

Just as Rick starts feeling under the couch cushions for the interdimensional cable remote, the front door opens, and Rick looks up eagerly. His heart lifts when he sees Morty step into the hallway.

“Hey! Uh…” Rick coughs awkwardly as he adopts a less enthusiastic tone of voice. “Hey.” He drapes one arm over the side of the couch and tries to look casual.

“Mm…” Morty doesn’t even spare Rick a passing glance.

Rick rises from the couch and strides over to Morty who doesn’t turn to look at him. “H-Hey, buddy, what do you say we head out? I know a – a really amazing dimension which is just like… it’s like the ice planet Hoth. Remember Hoth, Morty? From that movie you like? Oh-Only we can _ski_ there!” He belches loudly and takes a long swig from his beer. “Wh _ah_ t do you say, Morty? Keen? They even – they even have tauntauns…”

“I…uh… I kinda have a lot of homework to do tonight, Rick.” Morty begins making his way upstairs.

“I keep telling you! School is –”

“School’s for chumps, y-yeah I know, heard you the first time,” Morty mutters, not bothering to turn around.

And just like that, Morty’s gone.

Rick won’t admit he’s hurt but he is maybe just a little put out. He heads to the garage to keep himself busy.

“Hey Grandpa Rick, what ya working on?” he hears Summer ask as she arrives home.

Rick shuts the garage door in her face.

 

* * *

 

 

Morty is late to dinner that evening. Beth needs to remind him several times that there’s food on the table. Not that Rick particularly cares. If Morty wants cold lamb chops, then Morty can have cold lamb chops. It’s not Rick’s problem if the kid’s gone deaf.

When Rick hears Morty tiptoe down the stairs, he doesn’t bother to look up from his mashed potatoes until he hears an audible gasp from Beth.

“M-Morty…” she breathes.

Rick glances up and feels his stomach drop. Morty is sporting the biggest, worst shiner that Rick has ever seen. And _that_ is saying something. The lid is dull purple and almost completely swollen shut, there’s even some blood pooled in corner of his eye by his tear-duct.

_So that’s why he didn’t turn around…_

“Woah,” Summer sounds half-impressed, “what the hell happened to _you_?”

“Rough day,” Morty says in a bland voice, “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“S’pose you’re gonna tell us that we should see the other guy, huh?” Summer teases.

“Morty. If you’re getting beaten up like that, I might need to head down to that school and have a word with –”

“C-c-could you drop it, Mom?” Morty says bitterly as he begins nudging at the peas and carrots on his plate. “Jeez…”

Rick doesn’t say anything. He’s reminded, unsettlingly, of the Morties he saw back in Morty Town. Bruised, beaten, some of them looked like they had resorted to prostitution. And the worst he saw was that skinny little Morty tailing the Rick to whom he’d sold the bricks of fractal dust. Not because he was in any worse condition than the Morties outside but because this one wore the haunted face of one abused by someone he trusted in the worst way imaginable.

Neither Rick nor Morty speak for the duration of the meal. They don’t even look at one another.

When they’ve finished eating, Morty practically sprints upstairs. Rick follows him deliberately slowly. Each step more casual than the last.

“Hey,” he says, leaning against the doorframe to Morty’s bedroom and folding his arms.

“What is it, Rick?” Morty sighs.

“Just… y’know… what’s with the shiner?”

“I-I-I a-already told you, I don’t wanna talk about it,” Morty replies flatly. He looks drained, the dark rings beneath his eyes look like bruises in and of themselves.

“No, you said that to _them_ ,” Rick states crossly. He steps out of the doorway and shuts the bedroom door behind him with a satisfying click. “So, tell me what happened.”

“N-nothing happened! I’m fine!” Morty snaps.

“Yeah, ’cause you totally g _ay–AYY_ ve _yourself_ a black eye,” Rick chortles. “Come on, Morty, d-do I need to show up at the id- _EH_ -idiot factory a-and intervene?” Rick thinks for a second. “Uh. Again.”

Morty sits down on the bed and refuses to look at Rick, “I can handle it, Rick, okay?”

Rick unfolds his arms. He doesn’t like this. Something feels off. “You know – you’re – y-you’re not some hero by getting your ass kicked, Morty. You’re not proving a point or anything, you’re just making an idiot out of yourself as usual.”

“Rick… j-just… just go,” Morty says to the floor. “Please…?”

Rick hesitates. Then decides to just do as Morty asked, the door slams shut behind him with a nice loud bang. The kid wants to be weird? Fine. Let him. Not Rick's problem if the kid's going around causing trouble and getting his ass beat. He's got science to focus on.

They go on an adventure to Imitation Hoth just a few days later. Morty—who is a surprisingly talented skier—acts mostly normal and seems to enjoy himself.

Aside from the tell-tale black eye, Rick would swear nothing was wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

It should have been a routine visit to the Denarkl Mountains on Florpoorian-6 to collect necessary Yvanke Crystals. Easy, quick, and smashed out in just a few hours.

Denarkl Mountains are not typical earth-like mountains, they have no gradient, and instead appear to have shot straight up out of the earth like giant square cliffs. And although each one is only the height of a two or three storey building, the Gfdenarkl locals have nothing else resembling a mountain, so that is what they call them.

Morty knows the routine, of course. Climb the cliff— _slowly_ so as not to alarm the hibernating alien wolfmen—collect the crystals that cluster near the top, and then back down. Then move on to the next mountain nice and slowly. It is simple but quite tedious and requires an above-average level of fitness, so Rick appreciates the extra hands.

But for some reason Morty picked _today_ to get sloppy.

Rick doesn’t even see the wolfman, he just sees two gnarled and hairy hands—each one the length of Rick’s arm—reach out from inside the once-camoflagued cave and seize Morty in their grip, claws digging into flesh as a horrific ripping sound followed by Morty’s shriek of terror assaults Rick’s ears.

“MORTY!” Rick bellows. His gun is out in a flash. He leaps into the cave against his better judgement and stalks after the gargantuan monster. “Shit!” Rick hisses under his breath as he takes in the labyrinth of tunnels that make up the wolfman’s home. “Shit, shit, shit, of fuck…” Rick then yells into the echoing darkness. “ _Morty!_ Make a noise or something you idiot!”

“Riiiick!” he hears Morty call out. Rick sprints towards the sound.

He skids into an antechamber where the wolfman is hunched over making gurgling snarling sounds. Morty is nowhere in sight. “Morty?!”

“RICK!” Morty’s choked wet voice comes from somewhere near the wolfman. He sounds desperate. He sounds in pain.

Rick doesn’t think about it. He aims the gun at the wolfman and fires. It hits in the middle of the wolfman’s back, causing the creature to roar and throw its enormous clawed hands into the air. As it rounds on Rick, Rick springs and aims his next shot beneath the wolfman’s jaw before swinging on one of the creature’s flailing limbs in order to land between its broad shoulders. Balancing awkwardly on the back of its rough hairy neck, Rick fires shot after shot into the back of the creature’s head in the soft spot where its skull meets its neck. The wolfman roars before collapsing. Black blood splatters everywhere. It smells foul.

Rick doesn’t bother to dust himself off. He whips his head back and forth in search of his grandson.

“MORTYYY!” he roars.

“I’m here, Rick.”

Morty’s a short way off behind some rocks, lying on his back. Four gaping wounds are raked across Morty’s chest and stomach, he’s bleeding heavily. He looks pale.

“W-w-what the _fuck_ , Morty?” Rick blasts at him. “W-what – what – why’d you have to get yourself into this mess, huh? You idiot. I mean, r-r-really, do you – do you have any idea how far behind in my work I am now?”

“Yeah.” Morty replies quietly. “Sorry.”

Rick stills.

No ‘Aw Jeez’? No back-chat? No arguments?

“Anyway,” Rick continues, determined not to let Morty’s weirdness get to him, “let’s get going…”

To his surprise, Morty immediately staggers to his feet. His shirt has been ripped to shreds and alongside the slashes raked across Morty’s torso he has a cut lip, a bleeding nose, not to mention various bruises and shallow cuts all over his exposed neck, arms and legs.

Morty’s a mess. It’s a shock he’s standing.

“Do… do you want a hand?” Rick asks tentatively.

Morty shakes his head and blood from his nose drips wildly. He looks around himself nervously, his eyes light up on seeing the bag of crystals which he throws over his shoulder. Rick watches the boy wince with the effort.

“M-Morty?”

“I’m fine. I can handle it.” Morty replies coolly.

Rick watches quietly as Morty limps out of the cave. They somehow make it down the cliff and to the ship where Morty flops down into the passenger seat.

He’s panting. His T-shirt is soaked with even more blood than before. Morty bites his lip and winces as he does up his seatbelt.

“We off home then, Rick?” he asks.

“ _What?_ ” Rick flushes with annoyance. “No way! C-c-can y-you imagine how your mother would react if – if she saw you like this?”

Morty looks down at his lap. “Oh.”

“ _‘Oh’_ is fuckin’ right, Morty!” Rick replies curtly as he sits himself down in the drivers’ seat. “It’ll be da– _aahp–a_ rk soon. I’ll find us a place to get you patched up.”

“Kay.”

Rick sighs at the non-response.

As they zoom out of the planet’s hemisphere Rick asks the computer where they can find a hospital outside the jurisdiction of the intergalactic government. When that proves fruitless, he tries again.

“Okay, where’s the nearest place I can _buy_ hoh– _ohhhph_ –ospital supplies which is outside government jurisdiction?”

“What is the price range?” asks the computer.

“Doesn’t matter.”

Morty gives him a look. Rick turns away quickly.

“Queyagar Medical Trading Company,” the computer responds in a monotone.

“Okay, gimme coordinates,” Rick says flatly. “Y-You doin’ okay Morty?”

“Uh huh,” Morty says. But he doesn’t look like he’s being entirely honest. Rick doesn’t like how pale he is, doesn’t like the way Morty’s eyelids droop sleepily, doesn’t like the way his face pinches with every small bump of turbulence...

Why’d the stupid kid have to get himself messed up in the first place?

“Y-you… you’re such an idiot, Morty!” Rick snaps.

“Huh?” Morty frowns.

“Why’d you have to be so careless?”

“I dunno. G-got clumsy, I g-guess. I dunno.”

“You – fucking _hell_ ,” Rick curses, “what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Everything.” Morty whispers in a tone so tiny Rick can barely hear.

His anger softens to dull annoyance.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When they finally reach the tiny dwarf planet which housed the medical supply store, Rick orders Morty to stay in the ship and for the ship to keep him safe.

Morty doesn’t argue but he wishes he could follow Rick inside.

He won’t admit it to Rick, he knows it’ll just annoy him, but Morty is afraid.

Breathing _hurts_. It’s like being knifed every time his chest expands. He isn’t sure how deep the wolfman scratched him but it’s deep enough that every breath’s a bitch. And then there are all the smarting shallow cuts on his arms and legs caused by various jagged rocks in the wolfman’s den. They don’t look as impressive as the wounds on his chest, but they still sting.

But that’s not what is scaring him. After all, pain is just a part of life with Rick. It’s what he signed up for long ago.

No, the terrifying part is the way the world around him keeps looking so watery and dreamlike. The way his hands feel like pillows, the way the seat below his ass feels a bit too far away from his too-large floating head, and the way the ship feels like it’s flying even when it is obviously stationary.

And why is Morty so _cold…_?

Rick is a constant. A rock. Something Morty can rely on. Without Rick to tie himself to, Morty wonders if he’ll stay –

“Hey, M-Morty,” Rick tosses something heavy onto the back seat. Morty doesn’t remember falling unconscious but now that Rick is next to him again, he feels a little better, or at least little more solid. “Good news! I’ve bought out most of the store so we can get these weird-as alien medical supplies back to…” everything’s dim again, Morty blinks. Rick’s voice is so far away. Morty wrenches himself back. “…And after I treat you with them, I can probably sell them for – like –”

Morty’s vision blurs again. He blinks and the next thing he knows Rick is scowling in his face.

“Woah – oh man…” Morty starts in surprise. “Aw jeez, Rick. Wh-what’s going on?”

“You tell me, M-Morty,” Rick says through clenched teeth.

 _Fuck_ , Morty thinks tiredly. _What’ve I done this time?_

“You keep falling asleep!” Rick accuses. “Y-y-you said you felt fine!”

“I do!” Morty lies.

“ _Riiiight_ ,” Rick turns away from him. “Anyway, we’re here now.”

“Where – where’s here?” Morty asks tentatively.

It’s not home, like he’d naively still hoped. It looks like a very large asteroid with a whole lot of storage lockers on it.  

Rick unlocks Morty’s door and Morty turns to unbuckle his seatbelt only to find the sudden twisting movement absolute _murder_ on his ribs. Morty inhales sharply and hears Rick make an impatient tutting sound.

 _Keep it together_ , he warns himself. Though his eyes are watering with the pain.

“Here.” Rick hooks an arm around Morty’s waist and helps him to his feet.

Morty leans appreciatively against him as he’s helped into one of the storage lockers. As his eyes adjust to the sudden unnaturally bright light, he realizes Rick’s set up what appears to be a make-shift operating theatre.

Jeez… how long was he out?

“Alright, buddy,” says Rick, “on the table.”

Morty pulls himself away from Rick. In his mind, he would put the heel of his hand on the operating table and hoist himself onto it with ease. But his injuries had other plans and Morty finds himself crying out in pain as he twists.

Rick’s on him in a flash. Strong arms scoop him up and lift him onto the table.

The touch is gentler and more comforting than Morty could have ever predicted, and even through the haze of pain, Morty can’t help smiling a little. He curls against his grandfather and allows himself to relax even for only a moment.

“Okay,” Rick murmurs, “lie back now.” He guides Morty down and Morty lies prone. He wishes he could stay cradled in Rick’s arms for longer, but Rick is insistent and Morty’s too weak to resist. With Rick’s warm embrace now gone, Morty lies lonely and miserable on the cold metal.

He shivers, which causes his abdominal muscles to tense painfully. He winces and hopes Rick didn’t see. He doesn’t want to get a telling-off for being such a pathetic little bitch.

_(I don’t need reminding…)_

He hears Rick pottering about and then something rattles across the floor. Morty turns his head in time to see a small metal table laden with sharp utensils being dragged closer. He has never had any particular fear of needles, and Rick’s numerous experiments have desensitized him further, but his heart still beats a little faster at the sight of them.

Rick clears his throat and picks something up from the table. Morty cranes his neck to see.

“Relax, keep still,” Rick instructs sternly. Morty can’t though. He needs to see…

Rick tuts at him as his hand closes around his elbow.

“It’s just a painkiller,” he explains. Morty can’t see Rick’s face but he can tell his grandfather is rolling his eyes.

“I-It’s not that bad, Rick,” Morty protests as he feels the needle stab into his arm.

“Yeah, it is,” Rick says simply, “you – y-y-you’re not fooling me, Morty. Stop being a stubborn little bitch.”

Morty flushes with embarrassment.

“You know, with how rid-ridiculous you’re being, y- _yehhhrrrp-_ you’re lucky I don’t just put you to sleep for this.”

“H-hey, that’s a good question, Rick,” Morty realizes, “why are you keeping me awake?”

“Well,” Morty can hear something metallic clattering against the wheeled table and feels the fabric of his shirt being lifted. “For one thing Mor- _ohh_ rty, I’m pretty sure you’ve—you’ve lost enough blood that putting you under would be detrimental to your r-recovery,” Morty hears the unmistakeable sound of fabric being cut with shears, “and for another, I didn’t remember to buy any general anaesthetics so you’re… you’re gonna have to be _awayyyke_ for this.” Rick moves to Morty’s side and Morty sees Rick’s face for just a moment as Rick hooks an IV drip into him. Rick’s brow is knitted in concentration and he looks more serious than Morty has ever seen him. “So, you’d better not bitch about this too much,” he shoots Morty a glare.

Morty permits himself to smile appreciatively up at his grandfather.

Rick flinches.

Morty’s smile dies instantly and Rick moves back to Morty’s chest.

“Why didn’t you get me to take my shirt off?” Morty asks as Rick throws ribbons of yellow fabric to the floor.

“Because there’s not enough shirt _left_ to take off, dummy!” Rick huffs. Morty feels the slight sting of a needle weaving in and out of his chest. He supposes it would hurt a lot more if it weren’t for the IV Rick hooked him up to. Morty turns his head to look and is surprised to instead see a blood bag.

“Jeez…” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Rick replies condescendingly, “you’re in pretty bad sh-shape, Morty. Looks like that wolfman did a number on you.”

“No just…h-how much blood did I _lose?_ ” Morty asks.

A stab of pain hits him and Morty flinches.

“Jeez, will you hold _still!_ If you fidget too much, I’ll have to… _errhhp…_ have to knock you out!”

“I thought you said you didn’t buy any general anaesthetic,” Morty points out.

“Yeah, w-well, a baseball bat costs n-nothing,” Rick says petulantly. “And yeah, you lost a lot of blood. It happens when you get – _braaahhp_ – r-ripped into by an alien wolfman.”

Morty is quiet. He can’t feel much thanks to the pain killer but amongst the sting of the needle he can feel Rick’s deft fingers, which are gentler and softer than they have any right to be. At times they feel almost as though they are caressing him but Morty quickly dismisses such thoughts as nothing more than wishful thinking.

After all, he’s nothing to Rick.

He’s nothing full stop.

Then Rick places a tender hand over Morty’s heart and Morty feels his pulse throb excitedly at the intimate touch.

“You okay?” Rick asks sternly.

Morty gulps. “M’fine, R-Rick.”

“I proh- _ohh-_ bably should’ve hooked you up to a heart monitor,” Rick muses.

“I’m fine Rick,” Morty insists. “R-really. I’m just nervous.”

“Right.” Rick looks away, clearly unconvinced, but he goes back to stitching Morty up and Morty tries to keep his breaths steady so as not to give himself away. Rick continues to sound like his usual emotionally distant self, but his touch is so uncharacteristically soft – almost loving – that Morty can’t help the swelling in his chest or the nervous flutter in his stomach. He prays he isn’t giving himself away.

Too soon, Rick’s finished. Morty hears him cut the last of the thread.

“We’re done?” Morty tries to hide the disappointment in his tone.

“We’re done.”

Morty winces as he attempts to sit up. He’s just in time to see Rick removing a pair of surgical gloves before Morty’s arms give up the last of their strength and he flops onto his back again, cold metal clanging against the back of his head.

“Yeah,” Rick replies in a bored tone, “you’re gonna wanna wait until that particular painkiller wears off. Tends to turn your limbs to jelly.”

“How long?”

“Maybe a couple – oh – couple of hours?” Rick shrugs.

“Oh.” Morty stares resignedly at the grey ceiling. Rick pulls up a chair and sits next to him, he takes out his flask and takes a long swig. Morty wonders for one worried moment if Rick was drunk while stitching him back together but quickly pushes the thought aside.

 _Don’t think about it,_ he reminds himself.

_(And what would it matter anyway?)_

Rick smirks. “So, since you can’t run from me…”

Morty’s blood runs cold.

“Where _did_ you get that black eye?” Rick raises an eyebrow.

Morty looks away quickly.                        

“C’mon bro, I’m not gonna go anywhere,” Rick states matter-of-factly, “you might as – _braaaahp –_ might as well tell me.”

“Guy at school,” Morty says simply.

Rick shakes his head. “I figured _that_ much,” he states, “what happened?”

“A guy at school punched me in the face,” Morty explains flatly. “N-Nothin’ more to it.”

“So he jus-just w-w _ALL_ ked up to you and punched you? Just like… like – for no reason a-at all?” Rick sneers. “Just – Just… Oh! Look! Th-There’s Mor- _oooghh_ -Morty Smith. I’ma go punch ‘im!”

Morty grimaces. “Yeah.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Whatever,” Morty stares up at the ceiling determinedly. He knows Rick’s just going to get slowly drunker and as he does, he’s going to lose interest in this line of questioning. It’s just a waiting game at this point.

It isn’t like Rick _cares_ , anyway. He’s just morbidly curious.

“Y’know,” Rick continues, “I can probably give you somethin’ to get rid of it.”

“Nah, I don’t wanna hide it,” Morty dismisses.

“Hide it? What am I, a hack?” Rick sounds legitimately offended. “No, I mean actually heal it. So, y-y’know, it – it – it doesn’t b- _erp_ - _oh_ ther you anymore.”

“Nah,” Morty replies. “It’s fine.”

“Suit y’self,” Rick slurs. He takes another swig from his flask.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Eventually, Morty falls asleep on the operating table –- which is really a mortician’s table, that Rick hopes will serve more scientifically relevant purposes than stitching up his grandson, but Morty doesn’t need to know that.  
  
Rick gently takes the boy’s pulse and checks his vitals before unhooking the IV and gathering the boy into his arms to carry him out to the ship. Unconscious, Morty snuggles in against Rick’s chest and Rick smiles down at him fondly. It is rare that he gets to be this tender with Morty and he isn’t sure Morty would be okay with it given that he isn’t exactly a kid anymore. But it feels nice in the moment and it’s not as though Morty will remember. Sleep is the protector of their shared dignity.

He gently lays Morty down in the passenger seat, which he reclines fully, and softly brushes aside a wisp of dark hair in order to inspect Morty’s sleeping face.

He’s still too pale for Rick’s liking. Rick knows Beth will notice. And that shiner still doesn’t look too good.

Morty didn’t want Rick to remove it. Why? It clearly bothers him. Rick has seen Morty rubbing at it when he thinks no one is looking, his face pinched. Is he trying to prove something? And why did Morty get so sloppy today?

Rick shakes his head and sits down in the drivers’ seat. Morty is still and Rick feels thankful the kid is sleeping peacefully, he ought to make a full recovery from his injuries. He tunes the radio to a station at random and drives them back home.


	3. Chapter 3

Morty has always been a resilient kid, but even Rick is surprised when Morty shows up in the garage that afternoon and asks when their next adventure is going to be.

“No offense Morty, but I’m pretty certain I stitched you back together only last night,” Rick states in a deliberately disinterested tone.

“I can handle it,” Morty insists as he limps over to the workbench.

“Pretty sure your gait says otherwise,” Rick rolls his eyes. “Hand me that screwdriver.”

Morty obediently places the screwdriver in Rick’s hand. “So we’re not – not g-going on an adventure?”

“Nope.” Rick says bluntly.

He doesn’t cease what he’s doing but he can see Morty deflating in the corner of his eye. After looking pensive for a moment, then resigned, then determined. The kid straightens up as much as his injuries will permit and he actually smiles!

“Okay Rick, see ya then,” Morty turns on his heel and begins to leave.

“Where’re you off to?” asks Rick.

“I dunno, might go to the arcade with some friends,” Morty shrugs before limping out of the garage.

Rick turns back to the workbench, carefully looking busy until he hears the front door click closed. He then abandons the project –- an elaborate helmet -- he was tinkering with and heads out to the hallway only to find himself intercepted by Beth.

“Dad?” Beth asks, noting his determined stride. “Are you going out?”

“Did Morty say where he was going?” Rick asks.

“Out to meet some friends,” Beth looks alarmed. “Why? Is… is that a problem?”

“Since when does Morty have _friends?_ ” Rick growls and Beth pales.

“Well…I thought…maybe…”

“Whatever,” Rick growls at her and then huffs out of the house.

 

* * *

 

 

Morty busies himself at one of his favourite mind-numbing arcade games. It’s not particularly challenging, in fact after seeing some of the aliens he has seen in recent years the game is actually a little silly, but it takes his mind away from his worries and it’s helpful to get a little target practice in before they arrive…

“Smith.”

Morty turns when he hears his name.

“Dunford.” Morty nods curtly at older teenager behind him.

Mike Dunford grabs Morty around the shoulders and rubs his hair affectionately. Morty smiles. The friendly physical affection never feels natural or normal, but it’s not entirely unpleasant either.

“By the way,” says Mike, gesturing to an unfamiliar older youth, “you know Craig Robson, right? You mind if he joins us?”

Morty’s uncomfortable but only for a split second. He doesn’t really approve of newcomers without a proper heads-up, but he’s prepared to let it go just this once. “Sh-sure, no problem.” Morty replies. “Have you explained the rules to him?”

The new guy –- Craig -– nods and Morty doesn’t bother to question it. “So,” says Craig, “where’re we doing this?”

“Last time we headed to the roof,” Morty replies, “b-but we shouldn’t use the s-same place more than twice in a row.” Morty thinks for a moment. “Does… um… d-does anyone know of a place? A parking lot somewhere? Abandoned building?”

“There’s an old burned down shop on the corner of First and Main in Old Town,” suggests Scott Turner, the tallest of the group.

“Sounds g-good to me,” shrugs Morty as he grabs his coat to leave. “You guys lead the way.”

“Woah is that your score?!” Craig blurts out just as the group are about to leave.

“Yeah,” Morty says nonchalantly.

“Dude, _no one_ scores that high!” Craig says, awed. “If you can shoot like that, what’re you doing making money like this?”

Morty shrugs again. “Gives me more money to play video games, I…I guess.”

Morty follows the boys to the abandoned shop and each boy hands him a small wad of cash. Morty makes a small show of counting it but he isn’t really paying attention.

“So…” asks Craig, “how –- uh -– how d’you … how do we normally do this?”

Morty already feels exhausted. Craig asks way too many questions, it’s not very charismatic. “Yyou can all take turns, or you can all go together,” he looks at Craig, “if you take turns the first one will probably enjoy it most.”

“We all did it together last time,” explains Dunford.

“Kay then,” Craig agrees. “I’m game for that.”

“Alright then!” shouts Turner. “Dibs first shot!” and with that, he throws an almighty punch square at Morty’s jaw. Morty can feel it in his ears and he reels backwards.

The rest of the trio join in immediately. Morty’s punched in the head, in the stomach, the black eye is reborn anew and one of the boys even backhands him for good measure. He manages to keep upright for longer than expected but eventually he succumbs to the pain and sinks to his knees. Then the kicks begin. Head, arm, chest, face, chest again, diaphragm… Morty hopes the stitches haven’t reopened…

It hurts. Aches. Morty knew it would after the wolfman attack and with more than just Scott Turner and Mike Dunford wailing on him, but it’s still a bit of a shock.

Finally, they stop.

Morty’s face has finally reached the filthy shop floor. He can taste ash and dust and blood…

“Alright,” says Mike Dunford. “That’s enough. You still with us, Smith?”

“Yeah,” Morty coughs.

“Need help getting home?” asks Scott Turner. The guy sounds legitimately concerned for a moment and Morty feels himself crack out a laugh.

(Hurts like a _bitch!_ )

“Nah,” he chokes. “Juss leave me here, ’m good.”

And to prove it, Morty shoves a knee under himself and staggers to his feet.

“Fuckin’ hell!” breathes Craig, awed, Morty can’t help but crack a proud smile as he tries not to lose his balance, “how can you _stand_ after all that?”

“Practice.” Morty says dully.

( _I’m an impenetrable human-shield. If I can’t take the hits, I’m nothing.)_

The boys leave. Morty can hear them talking as they go.

“Fuck man! For a little guy he –- ”

“I know right? And I didn’t even hold back this time!”

Morty smiles to himself before collapsing back onto the dirty floor. Finally, the tears come. A trickle at first, then a flood.

 

* * *

 

The boy isn’t too difficult to track down in the end. Careless and stupid as Morty is, he is inevitably sloppy about covering his tracks. The only reason Rick didn’t find him earlier is because he didn’t actually believe Morty was going to the arcade and searched everywhere else he could think of first. When he finally found the arcade, it was easy to spot the game Morty had been playing.

The high scores for the past _month_ were all made by M.O.R.T.

“H-Hey,” Rick asks one of the slack-jawed attendees, “the – the kid who was last playing this game, yellow shirt, brown hair, h-he’s -- _uhh_ \-- got a black eye…”

“Morty?” the attendee responds.

“Uh… y-yeah. Him.”

“That kid’s here all the time. He left with his friends an hour ago,” the attendee says. “Said something about First and Main at Old Town.”

“Holy crap, what a br-break!” Rick laughs. He rushes out of the arcade and down to the address the attendee gave him. _Talk about careless! Who just blurts out the address of where they’re going?_

Rick feels something cold and miserable stab into his ribs.

_Someone who doesn’t think anyone would ever bother following him…_

There’s no one outside the burned down shop and Rick wonders for a split-second if he has the wrong place. He steps inside and looks around. There isn’t much here. It’s mostly just ash and the charred remains of…

A familiar shade of yellow catches Rick’s eye.

His heart stops.

“Morty…?” he edges closer. “Fucking hell! Morty!”

Morty’s unconscious and beaten to a bloody pulp. New bruises are splotched over Morty’s arms and legs and neck. His nose is clearly broken and there’s a cut on his cheek. His skin isn’t just pale, it’s colourless.

With shaking fingers, Rick lifts Morty’s shirt and finds his stitches torn open.

“Morty…” Rick feels sick to his stomach. “Morty!” he yells in his grandson’s face. “Morty you – you useless little fuckwit, wake up!”

Rick’s heart is racing. He’s seeing red. He can’t think. He gives Morty a firm shake and Morty’s eyes open slowly. He groans and Rick glares daggers at him.

Morty’s eyes widen in surprise. “R-Rick?!”

“Morty,” Rick gets his face in close to his grandson’s, “who did this to you?”

“Huh?”

“WHO DID THIS TO YOU?” Rick shouts.

Morty begins to sit up.

It’s a mistake. Morty’s wounds are too severe and he falls back down again with a grunt. Rick gathers the boy into his arms, resting Morty’s head in the crook of his elbow, and gives him a rougher-than-necessary shake. Morty groans in pain but right now Rick cares more about vengeance than he does about his idiotic grandson’s wellbeing.

After all, the kid’s just brought it on himself.

“Morty. You need to fucking _tell me_ who did this to you.” Rick snarls. “Right now.”

Morty shakes his head sluggishly.

Rick slaps him.

The blow comes as a shock to them both and Morty blinks up at Rick in astonishment while Rick masks his own horrified surprise with an impatient glare.

“F-for one – one – _once_ – Morty, don’t be an i-idiot. Just tell me what happened. Just tell me who did this!” Rick anger has melted to desperation but Morty remains annoyingly tight-lipped. Reluctantly and with an exasperated sigh, Rick admits defeat. “Fine,” he hisses, “you wanna be like that? Then I don’t c-c-ca – give a damn.” He lifts Morty into his arms and carries him outside. “You stupid idiot, Morty, you… you imbecile, you worthless little… you know now you… y-your Mom is gonna see you like this? Wha – What’s she gonna say, huh? H-How’s she gonna react? Did ya think about _that_ , Morty?”

Rick fires his portal gun.

“R-Rick…” Morty whispers pathetically.

Rick grunts. “What?”

“You’re – you’re gonna help me right? You’re not gonna go – leave me?”

Rick looks down at Morty’s bloodied face.

“That was never an option, dummy,” he says quietly.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh my god! Morty!” As soon as Rick has stepped through the portal, Beth comes running. Her face is white. Her hands flutter over her son’s limp body. “Dad, what happened?”

“Beats me.” Rick answers honestly.

“That’s it!” Jerry appears next to Beth seemingly out of nowhere. _Guess he’s visiting today,_ Rick thinks glumly. “There is no way I am allowing the pair of you on any more adventures!”

“A-a-as if you get a say in that, _Jerry!_ ” Rick spits out.

“We need to get Morty to a hospital!” Beth cries. “Quick, we can take my car -–”

“Not – n _OH_ t quick enough,” Rick replies and makes his way into the garage. “I’ll take the ship. I’d use the portal gun except, y’know, running all over town looking for Morty...”

“Oh no! Oh no! No, I don’t think so!” Jerry protests, “you are not taking _my son_ to some intergalactic alien hospital where they might not even know what a human being is! You are putting him down and we are calling an ambulance like _normal_ people!”

“Wake _up_ , Dad!” Summer snaps. _Geez, where the hell did Summer come from?_ “We aren’t normal people. We never _were_. Now, I’m gonna go with Grandpa Rick to the hospital.”

“Yeah, me too,” Beth states curtly.

“Actually, no offense to all of you but I’m taking Morty alone,” Rick states. “I need to concentrate on driving and frankly the shrill belly-aching of you lot will just make that more of a problem than it needs to be.”

“Unacceptable!” Beth cries. “I need to be with my son!”

“And _I_ need you to be out of my ship and here with your idiot and my granddaughter,” Rick argues. “N-now if you don’t muh-m _UH_ ind, I’m gonna go get Morty patched up somewhere. Or, y’know, w-we can keep arguing here in the driveway while your son potentially bleeds to death.” As an afterthought Rick adds: “E-either option is fine by me by the way.”

Beth and Jerry step aside but Summer hesitates. There is a tense moment where she and Rick stand and glare at one another. Rick doesn’t budge while Summer carefully analyses his face. After a pregnant pause, Summer’s face softens, and she backs down. Rick climbs into the drivers’ seat and speeds out of earth’s atmosphere.

He drives them to the asteroid with Rick’s make-shift hospital, anticipating that it’ll be easier than visiting a human hospital where they will inevitably ask annoying questions about Morty’s other injuries.

Rick works fast. He straps an anaesthetic mask to Morty’s face and a Holter monitor to his chest. He wonders – if only briefly – if it would have been easier to bring Beth along for the ride. It would have at least been helpful to have another pair of hands, though in the end he admitted he was right to be concerned about Beth’s ability to perform any form of medical procedure while hysterically worrying about her son.

Rick’s better at detachment. He doesn’t dwell on sentimentality. He can view Morty as just another biological experim –-

_Hold the phone._

Rick’s gaze zeroes in on Morty’s wrist. There’s a bandage wrapped haphazardly around it which definitely wasn’t there yesterday.

Rick’s suspicious but pushes it out of his mind for the meantime while he quickly restitches Morty’s claw wounds and deals with the cut on Morty’s cheek. He x-rays him, which reveals fractured ribs, a broken nose, and a cracked cheekbone. With how hard Morty was beaten, it’s a wonder he hasn’t lost any teeth.

Rick, meanwhile, is fuming. He’s not sure what’s pissed him off more: the fact his idiotic useless shit-head of a grandson has gotten himself beaten to the point where he lost consciousness, or the people who are responsible.

_For fuck’s sake, Morty! What kind of mess have you gotten yourself tangled up in?_

When Rick’s finally done treating him, he unwraps the bandage around Morty’s forearm.

Something deep inside Rick breaks down and weeps.

Several thin deliberate-looking cuts have been made in a criss-cross pattern over Morty’s skin. Most of the cuts lie across his wrist but some are aimed downwards in line with his vein.

Rick clenches his teeth.

It was sheer dumb _luck_ Rick is looking at here, if Morty had cut just a fraction to the left or the right…

_Jeez… Morty…_

…The black eye, the beating, the obvious self-harming…

_…what the fuck is your deal?_

Rick takes a step back and looks more critically at his unconscious grandson. Morty’s always been slender but now that Rick really looks, Morty’s face is gaunt, his ribs poke out above his concave belly, his jeans barely stay up on his narrow hip bones. Morty is no longer thin, he’s fucking _emaciated._

But he saw Morty eat breakfast this morning!

… _didn’t he?_

Now that he thinks about it… Morty is usually the last one to the table and the first one to leave, leaving half of his meal uneaten.

 _No, not eaten,_ Rick realizes.

The food is always cut up small and nudged around on his plate, providing the elaborate illusion of food being eaten. Morty even makes a show of reaching for seconds and ended each family dinner by diligently putting everyone’s dirty dishes in the sink, scraping the “leftovers” into the bin. A supposed courtesy he was even praised for by his inattentive mother.

But now that Rick thinks about it, he can’t recall the last time he has seen the kid actually lift the food from his plate to his lips.

Rick pulls up a stool and unscrews the cap on his flask.

It’s going to be a long fucking night.

 

* * *

 

 

Morty wakes to the sounds of beeping machines and the occasional click of an IV drip. He opens his eyes to the familiar grey ceiling of the storage-locker-cum-operating-theatre. His lungs hurt. He coughs and then gasps as his ribs scrape in protest.

“So,” Rick’s cold voice is laced with irritation, “you got something to tell me?”

Morty turns and looks at Rick.

He’s been drinking again, but that isn’t too shocking. His eyes are narrowed and Morty wonders how much he should admit to; how much Rick already knows…

As Morty gradually feels more awake, he realizes how cold he is on the table. Goosebumps are appearing on his skin and he feels the familiar sting of his exposed cuts against…

“Oh _shi –"_

“Looking for this?” Rick snarls. He holds up the bandage Morty wrapped around his wrist last night. Morty is silent. “Seriously, Morty?” Rick barks. “Self-harming? W-w-what – what is this, 2006?”

Morty turns away. “You’re drunk.”

_BANG!_

Rick slams his hands on the operating table on either side of Morty. Morty flinches which of coarse sends a stab of pain from his ribs into his lungs, causing him to wheeze uncomfortably.

“What the _fuck_ , Morty?” Rick hisses.

Morty feels uncomfortably naked and exposed lying drugged and shirtless on the operating table with Rick standing over him. He would like very much to be allowed up, but despite not actually touching him, Rick has him pinned.

“I guess… I dunno…” Morty stumbles over his words. Acknowledging he probably has to answer in order to make Rick move. “A-all the stuff… the stuff we do… it gets hard sometimes. I get tired. I dunno...”

“R-Really, Morty? _That’s_ the explanation you’re going with?” Rick scoffs. “Y-you - you cut yourself and starve yourself because you’re _tired?_ ”

“I’m not starving my–-” but Rick gives Morty a warning look at Morty quiets. There is no room for lies here. “Look,” he begins again, “nothing matters right? Everything’s pointless and – and – and no one’s special. So… I dunno… what does it matter if I’m – if I’m cutting myself?”

Rick’s expression darkens to something unfamiliar: something far from kind but it isn’t cruel either. The only word Morty can think to describe it is… _broken._

“M-Morty…” Rick’s voice is a fragile murmur. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You…”

Rick swallows.

“Y-yes, Rick?” Morty whispers.

Rick places his hand on the table next to Morty’s head and peers down at him. Their faces mere inches from one another. Rick’s silvery eyes are endless. Morty’s heart pounds in anticipation.

Is Rick… is Rick going to tell Morty that he actually _does_ matter?

It’s all Morty’s ever wanted: to matter to _someone_.

_Anyone._

His whole life he’s been alone: friendless, ignored by his family, disliked by his classmates for being socially awkward and possibly mentally handicapped. Even teachers call upon him so rarely that his classroom absences went mostly unnoticed until only recently. He is nothing more than a background character in everybody else’s lives and Morty accepted a long time ago that loneliness was simply a part of his personality. It’s never pleasant. But is so easy to just go along with it.

Sure, the beatings suck, and it’s humiliating to have to be stitched back together, but if that is the price of human contact, then he’s going to have to pay it. Without it, Morty fears, he would truly become the ghostly unfeeling entity he already imagined himself to be.

And Morty can admit, there is something oddly reassuring about knowing no one else in the infinite cosmos matters either.

Nevertheless, if someone could look him in the eye and say he was _valued_ , even just a little, even on a superficial level… and if that person was as remarkable as Rick then maybe Morty could permit himself to believe…

Rick’s expression hardens.

Morty’s heart sinks.

“Yeah,” Rick says curtly as he straightens up. “Y-You’re right, Morty.”

Morty doesn’t know why he feels such heavy disappointment. His chest hurts with it even more than the cracked rib or the wounds raked across his flesh. Of all the bruises, cuts, fractures… why does this hurt the most?

Morty’s eyes well up with shameful tears and he quickly turns his face away from Rick. He tries to breathe through the painful urge to sob but his emotions are suddenly beyond his control.

He wishes this childish moment could remain more private but the machines that he’s hooked to go crazy. The heart monitor lets out erratic beeps and several other machines let out obnoxious tell-tale alarms in unison.

Rick’s leaning over him again and before Morty can protest Rick’s stabbed a syringe into his IV line and Morty feels instantly calmer. He feels floaty, like he is dangling high above himself. If he could feel, he isn’t sure if he’d be grateful or resentful.

“Th-thanks…” he breathes.

Rick doesn’t look at him. But right now, Morty’s too numbed-out to care.

He’s floating.

Nothing matters.

It’s bliss.

And Morty hates it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because it's the way you think  
> Mixed with the pills and drink  
> Brought back to the way you are  
> Flowed up to there, close to God  
> You know that hiding ain't gonna keep you safe  
> Because the tears on your face  
> They leak and leave a trace
> 
> \- "Levitate"  
> Hollywood Undead

Rick helps Morty to his feet and they leave the asteroid in amicable silence. Rick’s arm around him to carefully keep the kid upright until they’re safely inside the ship. Morty’s high as a kite so at least now he can’t tell how shaken Rick is by their encounter.

But despite the drug-created veil, Rick still can’t look at Morty without feeling horribly uncomfortable.

He can’t quite work out what came over him… one second, he’s furious with Morty for being so frustratingly angsty and teenaged and stubborn and… and… _human_. And the next he’s swimming in Morty’s velvety brown eyes and he feels the insatiable unwavering urge to sink down and _kiss_ him.

Rick’s disgusted with himself, his traitorous mind flashing back to his brief but memorable moment at the Citadel. The Creepy Morty… a place made _by_ Morties _for_ Ricks…

“H-hey, can you im-imagine… imagine if we had, like, _bicycles_ for legs…” Morty giggles. “We would be _so_ fast!”

“Th-There’s a dimension with exactly that,” Rick replies stiffly. “But they don’t… they don’t consider themselves fast. To them… to them it’s just like walking, y’know? N-no big deal.”

“Wow…” Morty breathes. “H-how many dimensions are there, Rick?”

“Already told you, Morty, there’s an infinite number of possible… of possible dimensions. It’s impossible to count them all and be – believe – trust me, when _I’m_ telling you it’s impossible then it’s _really_ impossible.”

“Yeah…” Morty leans back in his seat and sighs contentedly. “You’re pretty amazing, Rick.”

Rick’s heart swells.

Rick wants to slap himself.

 _Don’t think about it!_ He reminds himself before another part of him counters, _don’t think about what, exactly?_

“You know, I mean that!” Morty suddenly insists, twisting in his seat to emphasise the point to Rick. “You’re amazing. Y-you’re like a… a… _demigod_ or… or something…”

Rick blushes a little.

_(Don’t think about it.)_

“Y-you, Rick, you can do anything...” Morty continues.

“Pfft! Obviously,” Rick rolls eyes eyes.

Morty bursts out laughing. “Ovviously. Buh still!” he slurs, “you don’t know… don’t even know… how grate – grateful I am. For you. C-can’t have a normal life with you around! Thass for sure!”

Rick feels a hand on his thigh and turns, startled, to look at Morty who is gazing up at him dreamily. His pupils have completely dilated, reducing his brown eyes to black. His expression is intense, focused but primal, almost animalistic. Rick almost can’t bear to look at him but at the same time… he doesn’t want to turn away…

“Y-Y-You shouldn’t twist round like that, Morty," Rick warns. "You’ll tear your stitches.”

The stupid kid’s playing with fire and doesn’t even know it. Rick wrenches his gaze from Morty’s face and looks determinedly outside the windscreen.

“B-being with you…” Morty murmurs. “You… you’re not always nice to me. B-But you are… in your – in your own way… _good_ to me…” Morty’s voice drops to a whisper. “I love you, Rick.”

“Oh _god!_ ” Rick’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

He gets a giggle in response and continues to avoid looking at the boy. He needs to watch where they’re going, needs to steer their way back to earth in a timely manner, Beth’ll be waiting for him and…

Rick feels the hand on his thigh shift and he glances down as Morty unbuckles his seatbelt. Rick’s mouth dries, he can’t speak as Morty repositions himself and lays down with his head resting heavily in Rick’s lap.

_Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck._

Rick’s pulse is bounding and his mind races with mixed emotions. The soft fluttery feeling in his chest with the knowledge his grandson trusts him this much is the one he would _like_ to concentrate on. But that feeling is dwarfed by the fact Morty’s face is just inches from his dick which – no matter how much Rick argues with it – is starting to take a very keen interest in the situation.

And of course each of those emotions are tinged with inevitable guilt and self-disgust, leaving a rotten taste in Rick’s mouth.

Rick feels heat pool at his groin, and he tries to concentrate on something – _oh god, anything_ – else. He stares out the windscreen for a moment before leaning over to turn on the radio.

 _Big_ mistake _._

The motion of leaning over Morty brushes Rick’s now half-hard member against the back of Morty’s head and Morty lets out a sleepy “huh?” in surprise.

“Uh…”

“R-ick…?” Morty murmurs. “Do… d’you have something in your pocket?”

Rick chooses his usual course of action. “Nope. I have a hard on,” he says simply. “But don’t flatter yourself, Morty. I’m just thinking about Christina Hendricks in the movie _Drive_.”

“Oh,” Morty nods. The back of Morty’s head rubs against Rick’s throbbing erection and Rick bites the inside of his cheek.

“You ever seen _Drive_ , Morty? I-It’s a movie about a guy who drives. It’s the most true-its-title movie in existence, Morty...”

Rick continues to chatter nonsensically at Morty for the rest of the ride home. Thankfully, Morty eventually falls into a blissful sleep and Rick breathes a sigh of relief. They arrive shortly after midnight.

Rick carefully carries Morty out of the garage and into the hallway. He notes miserably that Morty’s far too light for a boy of – _hang on, how old is Morty again?_

“You’re back!” Beth runs to him.

“Uh, yeah…”

“Is he… is he okay?”

“Looks like.” Rick shrugs. “I’m gonna – go – uh – put him to bed. See you in a bit.”

“Of course,” Beth nods her understanding. As Rick ascends the stairs Beth calls out to him. “Oh, I set aside some supper for you if you want it.”

“Thanks, sweetie, b-but – but there was no need to do that.”

“Nonsense!” Beth replies. She says something else, but Rick’s already shut the door to Morty’s bedroom.

He lays Morty’s limp body on the bed. Rather than muck about with sheets and blankets, Rick simply strips off his lab coat and drapes it over his sleeping grandson.

The coat looks huge over him. Or maybe Morty is just small.

Rick looks down at Morty’s face and realizes with a jolt that Morty has finally relaxed for the first time in weeks –- maybe even months! -- His brow is usually knitted, his jaw clenched, his shoulders squared, but now, despite the cut cheek, broken nose, and black eye, Morty looks deceptively at peace.

With his features softened, Morty looks much younger. Even with everything the boy has been through, he hasn’t yet lost that innocence, that sweet naïveté to him…

And having him lying here, calm and quiet for the first time in so long, and with no more patching up left to do, Rick can finally see the intricacies of Morty's features. His eyes a little too big for the rest of his high-cheekboned face, his mouth a little too small, making him undeniably… _cute._

But he’s growing. There’s an Adam’s apple at his throat which Rick hadn’t noticed before, and facial hair is sprouting at his chin and top lip. If it weren’t for how thin he is, Rick supposes that the constant adventures would have left Morty with a fair amount of muscle by now.

 _What’s going on with you, Morty?_ Rick thinks, lightly tracing his fingers over Morty’s gaunt cheek. He reaches beneath the lab coat and brings out Morty’s arm, the one with the shallow cross-cross cuts. He inspects them closely.

They look as though they’ve been made with a razorblade or maybe the blade of a dulled craft knife. Something ugly, cheap and a little bit blunt. He carefully traces his thumb over one of the deeper wounds. Yep, definitely something crappy and easily accessible to a teenager.

Rick doesn’t know what possesses him to do it, but for some reason he brings Morty’s wrist to his cheek. He can feel the tiny bumps of the abrasions against his face. His gut clenches, his eyes begin to well up, he swallows a lump which has appeared in his throat…

_What the fuck is wrong with me?_

For the first time in a long time, Rick is terrified of himself. He’s acting without thinking. The last remaining control over his emotions is circling the drain… he grimaces with shame as the floodgates open. Tears roll down his cheeks and trickle down Morty’s sliced-up forearm.

It isn’t right.

It isn’t fucking _fair._

Morty… his Morty _…_ the one thing in the entire multiverse that made the agony of loneliness halfway tolerable…

What is he supposed to do when his pain killer is in pain?

Rick’s chest aches with the hopelessness of it all. He can’t think – which is terrifying when all Rick ever has is his ability to think – he’s trembling, hyperventilating, the world is spinning, reality is roaring. He can hear Morty’s heartbeat thrumming where his wrist is pressed against his ear and he clings to the sound which booms _Why? Why? Why?_ inside the ether of Rick’s enormous mind.

Morty’s here. He’s in pain but he’s still _here_ and _alive_ and always so brave…

Rick’s nuzzling Morty’s forearm, rubbing guilty salty tears into the cuts. It’ll sting the boy tomorrow but right now Rick just _hurts_ too much to stop himself. He’s selfish when he’s emotional, even Rick can admit that.

He hears a voice in his ear and realizes he’s kept up a string of incoherent babble for probably several minutes…

“Morty…oh Morty… don’t do this…Morty…please don’t hurt…please don’t… hurt… _me_ …”

He kneels at Morty’s beside until the tears dry. Then, finally, he stands. He swallows – which hurts his parched throat – and turns to search Morty’s room for razorblades or craft knives. Any ‘sharps’ that Morty either has used or could use to cut himself.

He creates a small collection of sharp objects – including the sword of a mini Voltron robot and an especially pointy pen – and gathers them all into a shoebox he emptied beneath Morty’s desk. Morty stirs and Rick sits down on the bed next to him.

“You won’t appreciate this,” Rick whispers. “But I’m doing you a favour, kid.”

Morty’s eyes flick open.

Rick’s blood runs cold.

“R-Rick?” Morty groans. “W-what’s going on? What are you…? We – are we going on an adventure…?”

“N-no,” Rick murmurs in a tone that is hopefully soft despite his nerves, “go back to sleep Morty.”

But instead of settling, Morty becomes rapidly more awake. He sits up slightly and scoots up the bed. “Oh man…Oh jeez…”

“M-Morty? What’s… what’s wrong?” As Morty grows more alert, he grows more alarmed. Rick attempts kindness again and gently pats Morty on the head.

To his dismay, Morty flinches.

“Aw jeez… n-nothing, Rick,” Morty’s trembling.

Rick pulls back.

“You’re a good kid, Morty,” he says affectionately. “I – I – I don’t – I know I don’t tell you that enough. But you’re a real good kid. A real trooper…”

“Oh. A-Alright, R-Rick…” Morty’s voice breaks. He’s hyperventilating. He winces in pain.

“Right,” Rick rises to his feet. “G-good – sleep well, M-Morty.”

Rick leaves the room with the box of sharp objects. The door clicks shut behind him.

He makes his way downstairs and finds Beth seated on the couch wearing a pink dressing gown. She looks ready to nod off until Rick is standing before her.

“Dad!” she sits up, suddenly alert. “Is… is Morty okay?”

“Yeah, well…”

_He’s not okay. He will never be okay. And I’m the piece-of-shit who made him that way. I’m the piece-of-shit who is slowly destroying your son._

Rick adorns his usual mask of bored disinterest.

“Well, y’know, he’s about as okay as he can be. Nothing, I dunno, _vital_ seems to be damaged but he’s got a few broken bones…” Rick shrugs and helps himself to the supper Beth left for him, selecting a few choice pieces of leftover chicken from the fridge and putting them on a plate in the microwave.

Beth follows Rick into the kitchen. She helps herself to a bottle of red wine from the cupboard and refills the glass Rick didn’t realize she was holding.

“Did he say what happened?” Beth asks, leaning against the bench.

Rick shakes his head. “He’s not talking.”

Beth looks miserably at the floor. “I don’t know what to do Dad.”

Rick sighs. “Look, I… I think w-we… we both know I’m not the guy to turn to for parenting advice, Beth.”

“I’m just so worried,” Beth shakes her head, “he’s getting beaten up after school, his grades are terrible, he’s tired _all_ the time…” she looks mournfully up at Rick. “I hate to say it but maybe… maybe Jerry was right. Maybe it _is_ time to end the adventures.”

Rick’s stomach plummets.

“What? No! M-Morty got beaten up like that _here_ , Beth. He didn’t get injured on –- on an adventure. I’m always watch –- looking out for him,” Rick insists. “I-if -- if anything, th-the adventures keep him _away_ from people who might wanna beat him up.”

Except hibernating alien wolfmen, humanoid jellybeans with a taste for underage boys, Supernova, Gearhead, The Galactic Federation, Ricks from the Citadel, clones from an alternate reality possessed by demonic alien spirits from another dimension’s future, squirrels…

Beth nods but she doesn’t look convinced by the lie.

Rick feels so tired, the kind of tired sleep can never fix…

“I just… oh _gawd_ , Dad… am I doing the right thing? Is Morty suffering because of _me_ and the decisions that _I’ve_ made? Is it the divorce? W-What am I supposed to do going forward?”

“Oh, n-no, sweetie…” But Rick doesn’t really know what to tell her. No one really knows what’s going on with Morty right now, and if Rick hasn’t figured it out he doubts anyone else will any time soon. He tries to make some more placating there-there noises to comfort the distressed Beth, but Rick doesn’t have any real advice or information to provide to her.

He’s never been a people-person.

 

* * *

 

“H-hey…so Rick…?” Morty hobbles into the garage. Rick doesn’t look at him. He dreads the question he knows is coming… “w-when are we going on another adventure?”

It’s been a measly _two days_. Morty’s ribs are still cracked, his face messed up… but this is a trap, isn’t it?

“If I say we aren’t going on another adventure,” Rick turns and glares at his grandson, “are you gonna go get yourself beat up again?”

Morty looks as though he’s been slapped. “What – w-what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Morty, I…” Rick pinches the bridge of his nose in silent exasperation. Yep, Morty officially had him. “Tell you what, _Morty,_ ” he explains in a mockingly slow tone, “since I can’t leave you alone ‘round here without getting your ass kicked and you can’t come with me on adventures, we’re gonna go watch some interdimensional cable and then…th-then I dunno… d’you wanna see a movie? Or maybe choose your own adventure this time? Something _lame_ and _safe._ I know it hasn’t been ten adventures yet but… I dunno… m-may-maybe I’m feeling generous or something, I dunno.”

Morty’s face is uncharacteristically blank.

 _Christ_ , Rick thinks, _when did the kid get so robotic?_

“Interdimensional cable sounds good,” Morty says flatly. “I don’t want to pick my own adventure yet though. Juh-Just let me know when you need me again, kay?”

Rick frowns at him.

Something about Morty seems to be –- for lack of a better term -– _missing_. Ever since he was twelve, Morty always engaged with the universe with an unbridled sense of wonder, even when he was confused or terrified by the things that happened to and around them. But now, Morty just seems emotionless. Empty.

“Yeah, okay kid,” Rick replies.

He watches Morty limp out of the garage.

He can’t bring himself to do any more work that evening and instead he marches into the living room to watch TV with his grandson. He opens a beer and drapes one arm across the couch behind Morty’s head.

He half anticipates Morty will flinch away like he did in bed the other night, but instead Morty doesn’t even move. He just continues to stare blankly at the television as though he isn’t quite there.  

That blank stare is uncomfortably familiar…

_Don’t think about it._

_(Don’t disappear!)_

“Morty…” Rick thinks for a moment as Morty turns to look at him, he’s sure he’s just being paranoid but… just in case… “That uh… that – that grave in the back yard? Who is in it? Ruh – _urrrp –_ remind me.”

“Rick…” Morty looks uncomfortable.

“Remind me.”

Morty sighs and turns to look blankly at the screen again.

“Me.”

Rick swallows a mouthful of beer, satisfied. But Morty continues. “...A-and you. We – we Cronenberged the world and then we had to come to this dimension. And every… every day I’m punished for my selfish stupidity by knowing my… my oh-own corpse is slowly rotting in the b-backyard.”

Rick didn’t expect it to be phrased like that. He didn’t realize –- though of course he probably should have –- that a memory like that would so deeply haunt someone so irrational. After all, Rick himself had recoiled in horror at the sight of the deceased Morty and had quickly seized his own worthless old corpse so he wouldn’t have to touch such a vile tainted thing.

He drank a _lot_ that evening. Traveled to an especially filthy brothel east of Titan and doesn’t remember much except that no matter what he drank or snorted or fucked he couldn’t get the abominable sight of Morty’s broken body out of his head. Those glassy eyes staring into nowhere. That slack jaw. Grey skin. The blood. The _smell_ …

He didn’t admit it at the time, even to himself, but it had deeply disturbed him that the sight of a dead Morty could bother him so much.

“Don’t think about it,” Rick says flatly. It’s more to himself than to Morty but Morty lets out a small cut-off sob.

Rick turns to him in surprise.

“Sorry,” Morty whispers as tears trickle down his cheeks. “I know. I’m… I’m s-sorry. I know.”

“Morty…?”

“I’m oh-okay, r-really!” Morty sniffs and gives Rick what Rick assumes is an attempt at a reassuring smile. “It’s f-fine. I c-can h-handle it.”

When Rick continues staring scrupulously at Morty, Morty shrugs. “I –- I get it, y’know? N-no one matters, everybody’s gonna die. Alone. I’ll join that corpse one day and… a-and it won’t matter at all.” Morty cracks a dead-eyed smile through his tears. “I get that. I’m okay with that.”

Rick’s gaze drifts to the cuts on Morty’s wrist. His eyes narrow. “Tell me why you're cutting yourself, Morty.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Morty replies.

Rick's gut clenches.

Morty's smile remains unbroken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be published 01/05/19.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Faster than a bullet  
> Terrifying scream  
> Enraged and full of anger  
> He is half man and half machine”
> 
> \-- 'Painkiller' by Judas Priest

Morty knows he’s ultimately worthless. It used to hurt knowing that he was nothing more than a human cloaking device for Rick. But now… now that he’s accepted his role, he plays his part willingly.

And Morty likes to believe he does an excellent job.

And being dragged on adventures, being Rick’s verbal punching back, running errands, taking orders, being a good little soldier… it all gives him a much-needed sense of purpose. But in exchange, Morty has slowly realized, the universe has been slowly taking something from him. Something precious and unique. The kind of thing where one only realizes its value when its sold or damaged.

Morty doesn’t have a Rick-approved name for this entity. The words _Humanity_ and _Soul_ come to mind but Rick must be rubbing off on him because even Morty feels foolish entertaining such superstitious notions.

Nevertheless, that is what it feels like. Morty gets to be Rick’s sidekick, and the price for such a title is his unworthy soul.

Every god needs a sacrifice.

And that is why, when Rick tells Morty to kill the pale alien that’s cowering in the corner, Morty pulls the trigger without hesitation. He doesn’t blink or flinch when iridescent blue blood splatters them both. It smells sweet and metallic and meaty all at once. It isn’t warm, like human blood, it’s ice-cold.

_Heh. ‘Cold blood.’_

Morty smiles with vague amusement.

_Fitting._

He pauses to wipe traces of the stuff from his face, frowning as he suddenly notices the weighty silence behind him and he turns to look quizzically at his grandfather.

Rick is staring. His face white.

“ _Jesus,_ Morty…” he whispers.

“What?" Morty frowns. "Y-you told me to kill him.”

“Yeah I know but… I mean… I expected, I dunno, an argument or something. Jeez…”

“You...? You tell me to kill him, then you get all f-freaked out because I… because I _do it?_ ” Morty glares. “What… w-w-what do you want exactly, Rick? R-Reluctance? Disobedience?”

“Insubordination, contrition, remorse, a little cliché M-Morty speech lamenting the right to life? I dunno, Morty!” Rick throws his hands up in frustration. “May –- maybe I just feel uncomfortable with the idea of you obeying orders without questioning them. Y’know, th-think for yourself? Jeez… I dunno…”

Morty should feel angry or indignant or, at the very least, confused. But mostly?

He's just empty.

Finally, after sighing away the shock, Rick wipes the sweat from his forehead and raises his eyebrow. “Hey, h-how’d you know how to kill a Varrix anyway? You know th-they regenerate if you don’t get it right?”

Morty tells him about his mini adventure with his father and Summer. The corner of Rick’s mouth twitches up into what looks like an impressed half-smile and Morty feels something akin to pride swelling in his stomach.

_I guess I can feel something…_

“Well… C’mon you little psychopath,” Rick shrugs off the awkward moment. “Let’s get going.” He fires the portal gun and grabs Morty’s arm.

Morty quickly looks away to hide his wince.

He’s still bruised all over. If Morty were honest, he probably shouldn’t be on an adventure with Rick only a week after the beating but what else could he do? Rick was about to leave without him and Morty wasn’t going to allow that.

 

He’d been one step away from falling to his knees and begging the man to bring him along. Rick had stared down at him. His expression cold and stern. Morty had tried not to cry, not to plead, to keep some semblance of dignity. He hated that Rick knew about the cuts and he wished he’d hidden them better. But Rick didn’t need to know about his little business or how desperately Morty needed validation of his existence. Validation of his _purpose._

_Don’t leave me!_ Morty thought desperately. _Don’t leave me behind!_

But then Rick rolled his eyes and with a loud groan said, “C’mon then,” and Morty had practically leaped through the portal after him. 

 

When they step through the swirling green haze and into the open garage, Rick immediately goes still, the grip on Morty’s arm tightening to something uncomfortable, then painful. Morty looks worriedly at his grandfather's face to find the man livid with anger and shock.

"Rick?" Morty asks.

“What the _hell,_ Jerry?!” 

Jerry’s messing with one of Rick’s contraptions. Morty could guess what it is given the device’s loud whirring and alarming beeping.  

“W-w-what the fu _UH_ ck are you doing?” Rick yells.

Jerry continues to mess with the contraption, slapping it and pushing buttons at random, his eyes are wide with panic.

“How do you turn this thing off?” he cries.

“You _don’t!_ ” Rick shouts back.

“Okay, _what_ is going on in here?” Beth bursts through the side-door of the garage. She frowns at Jerry and then looks questioningly at Rick.

“Everyone out! That’s a b- _OHH_ mb, J- _EHHR_ ry’s holding!” Rick slurs. He seizes Morty by the back of his shirt and Beth by the arm and steers them both out of the garage. Jerry lets go of the bomb -- it drops to the floor with a loud  _clunk_  -- and jogs out behind them. Once out on the curb, Rick lets go of Morty and hastily checks his wristwatch.

“Okay, we have roughly one minute… but that’s only a -–”

“Five minutes!” Jerry interrupts. He begins to sprint back towards the house. “That’s enough time for me to -–”

“Dad! _No!”_ Morty doesn’t hesitate. It’s not Jerry’s fault he’s an idiot, he doesn’t need to pay for it with his life.

And perhaps Morty, despite feeling so little, still senses within himself a quiet fondness for the simple man. After all, even if everything is meaningless, even if family means nothing in the grand scheme, even with everything that has happened and could happen and will happen…

Jerry is Morty’s Dad.

As Morty dashes after him, the beeping and whirring increase in frequency, their pitch surging into a shrill and awful scream. Morty can hear it, why can’t Jerry? Lunging forward, Morty grabs the back of Jerry’s shirt and hauls him back.

But Morty’s hungry and weak and his father is a lot bigger than him. It takes all of Morty’s strength to move him and the effort sends Morty careening off balance towards the house with an accompanying dizzy spell.

He falls flat on his face on the hard driveway while Jerry stumbles backwards out of range of the blast. Less than a second later, heat envelops him and Morty is burning alive from his feet upwards… he squeezes his eyes shut as the biting pain shoots across his flesh…

 

And then…

 

Nothing.

 

Amidst the darkness, a low hum echoes all around him, replacing the roar of the explosion with a chorus of soft heavenly voices. The sound ebbs and flows like ripples across a cool lake and Morty cautiously opens his eyes to find himself surrounded by an eerie blue glow which reminds him of a charging phone. He props himself up on his forearms and looks around. There’s fire all around him but he’s protected inside a glowing blue bubble.

He twists in order to see the explosion behind him.

“Rick!” he gasps in shock.

Rick doesn’t answer. He’s crouched with his back to Morty, holding a small white box to the ground which is emitting the bubble of light. They’re safe and it’s cool inside the bubble but Rick is obviously sweating with the effort of pinning the box in place. After several minutes of stunned silence from Morty, the explosion dies down and they’re surrounded by burning debris. The garage and most of the front of the house has been reduced to smouldering rubble.

Morty silently prays Summer wasn’t home…

Without warning, the top of the bubble bursts, creating a gash in the blueness that reveals the night's sky. The gash opens wider and the sphere dissolves into a cascade of glittering blue fractals which fall all around Morty and his grandfather. When they hit the ground, they instantly turn to liquid, giving the appearance of freshly fallen rain.

Rick suddenly jerks backwards, shielding his face as the little white box explodes in a puff of blue smoke.

Morty’s an idiot but even he can put two and two together: whatever was in that box, it was a one-time-use device. Something to be used only in an emergency.

 

…And Rick just wasted it.

 

Morty is grateful –- oh god, he’s so _beyond_ grateful –- but he’s also miserable and wrecked with guilt.

He opens his mouth to apologize, or thank his grandfather, or at least... _grovel_  in some way but is instantly rendered speechless.

Rick rises slowly. Back straight, shoulders squared, head down. With the burning glow before him and the long shadow behind him, Rick looks inhumanly tall, like a great demon. Morty has always been in awe of Rick but this is the first time he’s found himself actually _cowering_ before the man.

Morty recoils as Rick turns and instantly wishes he hadn’t because right now he _hurts_ , especially his burned feet and cracked ribs, but every part of him feels kissed by the presence of flame. But as much as Morty wants to hold still, it is not a conscious reaction. It’s instinctual. Ancient. As every cell in Morty’s body warns him of a great primal danger.

His parents sense it too. Morty hears a whimper behind him and turns to see Jerry looking terrified, eyes wide and prey-like, his whole body trembling in fear.

Rick slowly lifts his head and Morty, for the first time, finally understands just how _patient_ Rick has been with all of them.

Ricks eyes are full of anger and power, the very air around him crackles with rage. Morty has never seen anything so foreboding in his life. This isn’t anything like your average infuriated human. No. This is the walking manifestation of _wrath_.

Rick strides slowly towards the snivelling man. His tattered ash-covered lab coat billows behind him like black wings. Rick doesn’t spare Morty a parting glance, for which Morty is almost grateful. If those terrifying rage-filled eyes were to look into his at this moment, Morty may just lose all shred of sanity. But nevertheless Morty’s eyes remain glued to his grandfather who is… _changing._

Rick’s robotic arm is morphing into something bigger, more powerful, and with every step, Rick seems to grow in height, his shadow lengthening to something impossible, towering over them all like the all-powerful being that he is.

Jerry shrinks back. “N-Now listen, I –-  _ghck!_ ”

Rick’s robotic hand has shot up and clamped around Jerry’s throat. Rick lifts Jerry from the ground without the slightest effort, staring deep into the little human’s eyes as Jerry slowly turns red, then purple, his legs kick wildly as he desperately claws at the relentless golden fingers squeezing tighter and tighter around his neck.

Morty is paralyzed.

The worst part is Morty knows Rick could easily snap his father’s neck and have it over with. But instead, Rick is _choosing_ to prolong this. He’s slowly strangling Jerry while staring into his dying eyes because he _wants_ this to be slow. He _wants_ this to hurt. And he _wants_ to force Jerry to look into his eyes as he’s dying.

“No… ” Beth is sobbing uncontrollably, one hand reaching out pathetically towards her dying husband. “No… no…”

Somehow, his mother’s strained voice jerks Morty into action.

He staggers to his feet -- ribs groaning, the soles of his feet screaming in protest -- and with gritted teeth and no brain, limps to the pair of them.

He knows it’s a risk. He’s never seen Rick so unhinged and he doesn’t know how Rick will react. But even with his frayed nerves and singed soul, even with a shattered moral compass, even with all his emptiness and dirtiness and worthlessness...

 

Jerry’s his Dad.

 

“R-Rick…” Morty chokes out.

Fuck, his lungs _hurt._

Rick doesn’t react. Not even a twitch.

The hand around Jerry’s throat squeezes tighter…tighter… _tighter._ Rick’s lips curl into a cruel smile as Jerry begins to go limp...

“Ri- _ick_ ,” Morty tries again. “ _Please…_ ”

His throat is caked with ash, leaving Morty’s voice dry, cracked, and barely audible.

And Morty feels so _small._

But he must do this. He has to prove just one inch of him is still worthy. Just one inch of him is still...  _Him._

Morty reaches out and puts a tentative trembling hand on Rick’s arm.

Rick stiffens and turns to his predatory glare upon Morty, sending a jolt of primal fear straight into Morty’s thudding heart.

Morty tenses, waiting for… he isn’t sure what. A hit? A slap? For those cold metal fingers to close around his own throat and choke the life out of him next? He’d certainly deserve it…

Hell.

He’d welcome it.

But instead, Rick’s expression changes to something a fraction softer, more human, but still menacing. He shoots a pained look at Morty before scowling at Jerry.

“ _You_ ,” he whispers, venom injected into every word, “ _are so lucky Morty is your son_.”

The golden hand opens.

Jerry flops to the ground.

He’s a pathetic snivelling mess, massaging his throat and trembling at Rick’s feet while he gasps and then chokes on mouthfuls smoke-flavoured air, unable to look at anyone out of fear and shame.

Beth runs to him then. Wrapping her arms around Jerry and burying her face against his neck. “Jerry… Oh Jerry… Oh my god…Are you okay?” she babbles through the stream of tears pouring down her face.

Morty feels a pang of hurt.

Didn’t she notice he’d nearly died too?

Rick looks down at the embracing couple with haughty disgust.

With a defeated sigh, Morty turns away to look at the smouldering decay that was once their home and begins to walk towards the house. Maybe some of Rick’s garage workshop can be salvaged…

But before he can take another step; a hand clamps down on Morty’s bicep and freezes, grimacing as cruel fingers dig into his muscle.

“Where do you think _you’re_ going?” Rick growls.

That’s it.

That’s last drop of courage gone.

Biting his cheek to prevent himself from bursting into frightened tears, a terrified whimper escapes his lips. He looks up at Rick – who still looks unhinged – and shrinks back in fear.

What’s Rick going to _do_ to him?

To his surprise, Rick’s face softens -– a conscious effort by the looks of it -– and the grip on Morty’s bicep gentles, not enough to be comfortable, but enough to be noticeable.

“We’re going.” Rick declares.

Neither Beth or Jerry argue.

Morty watches them pityingly as he’s yanked through the portal.

He suspects he won’t see his parents for a very long time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Children lose their youth too soon  
> Watching war made us immune  
> And I've got all the world to lose  
> But I just want to hold on"
> 
> \-- 'Easy Silence' The Dixie Chicks

Morty trips over his own feet as he stumbles through the swirling portal into what, despite being obviously from another world, is unmistakeably a very upmarket hotel lobby. White marble –- or at the very least, a stone resembling marble –- shines reflectively beneath Morty’s feet, gold motifs line every wall and surface, and a giant circling staircase –- at least the length of Morty’s classroom –- is draped in a rich scarlet carpet. It’s all far too fancy for something so spur-of-the-moment and Morty is suddenly very aware of his singed clothes, bruises, and grazed chin.

Rick approaches the black-haired, purple-skinned receptionist.

“Give me anything!” he barks as he slams a card down on the reception desk.

“Um…” she bites her lip nervously, “I’m sorry sir but --”

Morty zones out. Numb once again except for an unpleasant tingling sensation in the heels of his feet which is slowly increasing in its severity. He stands awkwardly on the balls of his feet in order to relieve it but that just trades the pain for that familiar relentless numbness. Morty eases himself back down with a hiss.

The tingling blends into a sting and then a slow burn. He breathes deep, almost savouring it, when he’s surprised by a sudden grip on his arm again as he’s wrenched away from the reception desk.

“C’mon!” Rick barks.

Morty steels a glance back at the receptionist. She gives him a wide-eyed worried look and Morty realizes that with his bedraggled appearance and the way he’s being manhandled by an older gentleman this probably looks -- well -- pretty _bad_. He tries to shoot her a reassuring look but she’s already helping the next guest.

Morty looks away.

 _Guess she wasn’t_ that _concerned._

They ride the elevator in silence. Rick doesn’t stop holding Morty’s arm, though his grip isn’t nearly so tight now. Morty feels something wet trickle over his lips and he curiously dabs at his top lip with his fingertips. When he inspects them, he sees that his fingers are covered in blood.

Odd.

How long has his nose been bleeding?

He must have landed on it when he fell, though it is worrying that he didn’t manage to feel anything…

With a loud and obnoxious _ding,_ the elevator glides to a halt and Rick releases the grip on Morty’s arm in order to grab onto the back of Morty’s shirt, shoving him forwards.

Dizzy from the rough movement, Morty stumbles a couple of times as Rick manhandles him down the hotel corridor. Rick tuts, exasperated, but Morty’s already-clumsy feet are burningburning _burning_ and his eyes water with every step. He can barely see where they’re going. He hopes their room isn’t too far a walk.

But even when they’ve finally entered their room, Rick doesn’t stop shoving. He drags Morty to the couch and plonks him down on it.

“Wait here,” he orders. His voice brusque and mean.

Morty doesn’t have the will to question him.

Rick departs, leaving Morty sitting stiffly on a white suede couch in the middle of what must be a _very_ expensive hotel penthouse. To Morty’s left is a well-stocked dry bar, to his right is a wall-length window revealing a vast twinkling city beneath a star-filled sky, and beneath Morty’s feet lies a plush rug, the colour and feel of polar bear fur.

Morty wants to appreciate what was probably a very kind gesture from Rick but can only feel the biting pain in his feet, the sharp sting where he’s grazed his chin and on the heel of his hand where he’d reached out to catch himself. His nose throbs dully, it’d probably hurt a lot more if it weren’t for his other more notable injuries.

There’s no way to sit comfortably to relieve the pain. But maybe that’s okay.

Morty can’t help thinking he probably deserves this.

“Aw Jeez…” Morty mumbles to himself. His nose is bleeding more heavily now. He watches the blood from his nose pool onto his lap and is careful to avoid staining the white suede.

After an awkwardly long time, Rick returns carrying an unfamiliar silver suitcase as well as a couple of bottles of alcohol and a first-aid kit. Wordlessly, he seats himself on the couch next to Morty and uncaps one of the bottles before handing it to him. He places the first aid kit and the suitcase on the coffee table.

Morty hesitates, wondering what kind of drink Rick went out of his way to get that wouldn’t be included in the dry-bar, but the look Rick shoots him tells him to hurry up and down it.

It’s horribly bitter but the honey-like aftertaste is even worse. It has a sedating effect which leaves Morty feeling artificially warm and content. He’s not sure if this stuff is whiskey, bourbon or something completely alien but he dislikes the taste and hates the feeling.

Rick’s chugging from his own bottle as he removes equipment from the first aid kit. Morty winces. He wishes Rick wouldn’t keep tending to his wounds while drunk. Rick has almost finished the entire concoction before he finally reaches for Morty’s face.

Morty realizes almost-too-late that it is the same robotic hand that almost killed his father.

The thought of that evil golden _thing_ touching him makes his skin crawl and Morty flinches, quickly turning his head to the side.

Rick emits an impatient growl and roughly pistol-grips Morty’s chin, forcing Morty to face him.

Morty’s can’t realistically do anything to get away and instead quickly averts his eyes to hide his revulsion. Even if he weren’t so weak and pathetic, he doesn’t want to incur Rick’s wrath now that he’s seen how dangerous it truly is.

But even though the grip on Morty’s chin is insistent and cruel, Rick’s fingers are remarkably gentle as he dabs at the blood dripping from Morty’s nose with a cotton tissue. He tilts Morty’s face up to examine the graze on Morty’s chin and uses a saline solution to wash out the residual gravel and dirt.

“Does it need stitches?” Morty asks meekly.

“Don’t be such a little bitch, M-Morty.”

_Guess that answers that question…_

Rick’s face is so close to Morty’s, Morty can count his grandfather’s eyelashes. He can see every line on Rick’s concentrated face, every freckle, every…

Morty almost smiles.

His grandfather’s quite handsome really, in his own unique way. It’s no wonder he has such an enviably successful sex life despite –- or maybe even because of -- his age. Sitting here, with nowhere else to look, Morty could lose himself in the details of the man’s striking features.

When nothing matters, you make something matter. When everything’s a dream, you hang onto pointless details to pretend something is real. Make a memory out of a moment. Treasure the unimportant. Bleed to feel human.

Morty recalls the way Rick loomed over them all like a towering demon. Blanketing the unimportant with his great shadow.

Rick Sanchez: The one thing the universe shat out that knew from the get-go what he was, how little he mattered, and took exception to it. He put himself on top, made the universe his bitch, and reminds everyone of that fact every chance he gets. It is impressive yet nauseating and Morty isn’t sure if he respects it or hates it.

Morty jerks reflexively, emitting a sharp hiss as Rick experimentally traces a thumb over his still-broken cheekbone.

Rick nods knowingly and opens the silver suitcase.

Morty glances down at it and sees it’s full of single-use vials and syringes, each vial full of brightly-coloured liquid.

More drugs. More painkillers.

More nothingness.

His chest clenches. Rick isn’t looking at him, already screwing the Luer-Lok of a hypodermic needle onto a syringe --

“Don’t.”

Rick ignores him.

“Please…” Morty inwardly cringes at how pitiful he sounds. He doesn’t mean to beg but… “p-please, Rick. Don’t.”

Rick hasn’t put down the syringe, but he hasn’t yet proceeded with it either. He’s looking very _patiently_ at Morty. His face unreadable.

Morty’s afraid. Muscles and tendons tensing (hurtshurts _hurts_ ) as fear frays his thoughts. If Rick gets pissed off with him what will he do? What’s he capable of?

Will Rick simply snap Morty’s neck and move on?

Will Rick abandon him here at this hotel?

Morty’s so weak now, he knows he’s only been slowing Rick down. He’s tired, he’s hollow, and he’s so… so… _cold_.

Each breath aches, each step burns, his stomach hurts from being empty for so long. But… but it’s all _real._ Loud, clear, undeniable reminders that he’s still here and still human and still _himself._ A choice of pain or the Hell of Silent Numbness is like a choice between life or death.

“Please, R-Rick, just… just… let me feel it…” it’s an odd request and judging by the curious twitch in the corner of Rick’s unibrow, Rick clearly thinks so too. But Morty doesn’t care if he doesn’t make any sense right now.

Pain is Comfort.

Up is Down.

Right is Wrong.

…And there’s no point to any of it.

“I can handle it,” Morty reassures them both.

The syringe clatters to the table. Morty has enough time to blink before Rick has seized the front of his T-shirt with both fists.

He holds it for just a second while their eyes meet.

Morty braces himself.

Rick’s eyes narrow.

Morty lets out a cry of surprise as he’s suddenly yanked to Rick’s chest. Rick’s arms close tightly around him and Morty is draped limply against his grandfather’s body, entirely unable to comprehend what is happening.

Rick is actually… _hugging_ him?

Slowly, but with all the _NeedWantNeed_ that Morty didn’t know he’d been carrying, he lifts his own heavy arms and tentatively encircles them around Rick. Tears prickle at his eyes and he finally lets himself go, sobbing into Rick’s shoulder.

Morty’s heart is pounding in his head. It’s as though all the hard-to-reach emotions have suddenly and mercilessly slammed into him and all he can do is cling to Rick and pray he won’t drown.

But after the initial wave has crashed, Morty relaxes into the embrace. The universe finally slowing to something his human mind can fathom. He lets himself finally breathe and it feels so _good_ to fill his lungs with his grandfather’s alcohol-spiced scent. Morty can feel finally feel comfort, warmth… like settling by the fire after coming in from a blizzard.

There’s no confusion here. No ambiguity. No grey-areas and no shadows of doubt.

This. Is. Right.

“You don’t have to.” Rick rasps in Morty’s ear.

Morty buries his face against his grandfather’s shoulder and lets the tears soak into the fabric of Rick’s lab coat. He’s not sure what Rick means or if either of them really understand each other but right now, he doesn’t care. He just wants to hold onto this moment. Hold on and create a memory.

Rick rubs a soothing hand up and down Morty’s back and Morty slowly closes his eyes and sighs with relief.

Morty understands now.

Touch.

How often has his mother or father touched him? Hugged him?

For so long, Morty’s only physical contact with anyone was being thrown against lockers or punched in halls. And when Rick waltzed into his life the violence only escalated.

Yet Morty craved more.

Even if a touch left him bruised or bleeding, even if it broke a bone, it was still better than feeling like an incorporeal ghost. It was still better than being all alone: a leper amongst his peers. Feeling nothing. _Being_ nothing.

But this… this felt like all the fractured pieces of Morty’s soul were being slotted back into place. Held together by his wonderful, godlike grandfather. Morty could do this forever.

Rick draws a shuddering breath and grips Morty even tighter. It hurts his chest but Morty’s too overwhelmed to care. Rick repositions himself slightly and Morty’s surprised to find himself sinking backwards onto the couch. Rick’s all around Morty now, his weight draped over him reassuringly like a heavy blanket, his presence strong and insistent and _everywhere._

Morty lies back, staring up at the ceiling, breathing deep and feeling Rick’s scent –- musky and hot and just a tiny bit sugary –- burning pleasantly in his lungs while Rick’s head rests heavily against the side of Morty’s throat.

“Rick…?” Morty murmurs, carding his fingers through his grandfather’s hair in a manner that he hopes is affectionate and not annoying.

“Shh…” Rick whispers. “J-Just wanna… Just wanna hear your heartbeat.”

Morty blinks. Confused.

Rick continues to cling to him until finally he sniffs and repositions himself so he’s leaning over Morty, his forearm resting on the couch just above Morty’s head.

They both stare at each other, their faces mere centimetres apart. There’s an unfamiliar look in Rick’s eyes and Morty feels unsettled but not quite uncomfortable. Rick’s always been an enigma. He’s used to that.

Finally, Morty feels brave enough to speak.

“You saved m-my life. Even though I could… I could be replaced.” Morty stammers. “Th-thank you.”

Rick grits his teeth and Morty isn’t sure what he’s done wrong. Was he annoyed about wasting what was in that little white box?

Finally, Rick speaks.

“I can’t –-” his voice clips off at the end.

Morty tries to smile appreciatively up at his grandfather.

Rick shuts his eyes and looks away, pained. Morty feels immediately guilty though he’s not certain why such a gesture should offend.

“I…I c-can’t…” Rick swallows, “replace you, Morty.”

Morty stifles the urge to snort. He’s heard the line a million times, he can recite it be heart: “I’m one of infinite –-”

Rick shakes his head, he looks stern, almost angry.

Morty quiets.

“No.” Rick’s voice is like steel. “You are _mine_ , Morty.”

The sheer possessiveness of the statement makes Morty’s stomach flutter. He tries to keep his face blank but can’t help a tell-tale shiver.

“You’re _mine_ ,” Rick repeats. His eyes are boring into Morty’s. “And I. Won’t. Lose. You.”

Morty isn’t sure what to say or how to react.

Does this mean Morty matters?

 _Actually_ matters.

To the man who controls the universe, no less. Morty shakes his head but can’t help the smile stretching widely on his face even though doubt and disbelief still gnaw away in his gut. “The smartest man in the universe,” Morty says in a lightly mocking tone, “the man who can do _anything_ …”

Rick’s stern gaze flicks down to Morty’s mouth.

Morty’s heart stops.

“That’s right, I can.”

And he next thing Morty knows, Rick is _kissing_ him.

 _Wait. No! What…? What the fuck?_ Morty’s brain short-circuits.

It’s _objectively_ wrong. It’s… it’s not just unacceptable, it’s immoral, it’s deplorable, it’s an abomination. And Morty…

…

 _Likes_ it.

 

As much was Morty wants to feel disgusted by this, having Rick’s lips pressed against his own makes all the blood rush away from his brain at an alarming speed. His heart thrums excitedly, and he moves one hand to cradle the back of Rick’s head, the other encircling Rick’s waist.

_This shouldn’t feel this good…_

The kiss grows deeper and Morty sighs contently through his nose as Rick peeks his tongue past Morty’s lips. Morty welcomes it, licking along its side as Rick tenderly and curiously explores the inside of his mouth.

Then Rick lowers himself down so his pelvis is tilted against Morty’s. Morty lets out a small gasp in surprise.

Rick’s hard. Like, _seriously_ , hard. And he’s huge. Morty can feel it through Rick’s pants and his mouth dries.

Kissing was one thing but…

Even though he doesn’t want to, Morty finds himself retreating. He scoots up on the couch slightly only to have Rick’s hand clamp down on his shoulder and hold him still. Morty freezes. This feels uncomfortably familiar and Morty briefly flashes back to the near-miss he had with Mr. Jellybean...

…the night he awoke to Rick with a knife at his throat…

…and then another less solid memory, like a fever dream from his childhood, somewhere in the depths of Morty’s mind, hidden in the dark, where truths are denied and lies keep him sane…

“ _R-Riiick!_ ” he begs. Dignity abandoned.

Rick angles his pelvis so that his bulge grinds into Morty’s groin and Morty lets out a strangled whimper. Rick pushes his knee up between Morty’s legs, spreading them apart, he reaches down with one hand to cup Morty’s behind as he grinds their crotches together again. The fabric of Rick’s pants scraping over Morty’s own traitorous erection and Morty shudders as persistent heat gathers at his groin.

It feels good –- that’s undeniable –- but it’s too much, it’s too fast. Morty’s not even sure he’s okay with this. He hadn’t even considered he might be gay until a few minutes ago. (And is he?) He’s sweating, hyperventilating. He might be okay with this if he just gets a reprieve, he needs to think for a second…

And then Rick traces his fingers to the front of Morty’s jeans, experimentally dipping two fingers inside the waistband of Morty’s boxers.

Something inside Morty’s chest feels like shattered glass. Every inhalation digs the shards in further.

He can’t breathe.

“Rick… _p-please_ …” Morty wheezes.

That sinks in. Rick eases off him. With the weight gone, Morty’s lungs refill too quickly and he coughs.

The cough brings liquid into his throat and Morty gasps in panic.

“Here.” Rick’s guides him up into a sitting position.

Morty keeps coughing and spluttering as Rick carefully strokes up and down his back, making small soothing noises as he does.

Morty appreciates it more than words could ever say.


	7. Chapter 7

Rick has always been so sure of himself, so sure of _everything._ But tonight, right now, everything’s a riddle with the answers hanging just out of his grasp. 

He kissed Morty.

He _kissed_ his underage grandson. He finally sunk that low.

But to Rick’s uttermost shock, Morty actually kissed him back and held him: a gesture Rick had no right to ever expect and certainly did not predict. Right when Rick thought he understood all the weird little eccentricities about the kid, Morty had to go and turn everything on its head by acting like he actually _wanted it._

But now a darker question lingers at the forefront of Rick’s mind… does Morty reciprocate Rick’s sexual interest? Or is the poor boy simply so starved for affection he’d let Rick do anything to him?

From the panicked lilt to Morty’s voice, Rick suspects the latter and with a heavy heart, he eases off him and helps Morty sit upright, letting him choke down some air.

“Shh…” Rick soothes, stroking up and down Morty’s back. “It's okay, Morty… you're okay…"

Morty’s shaking, leaning forward with his head over his knees, his breaths come in panicked heaving gasps and Rick understands. He stills the hand on Morty’s back.

“We’ll –- uhh –- w-we’ll leave it there, Morty.” he says quietly. “I thought… I don’t know what I thought. If you… i-if you don’t want… I won’t -- I proh -– I promise I won’t do that again.”

Morty’s still bent over, panting and spluttering while Rick watches him worriedly.

“We c-can forget this ever happened,” Rick continues. More for his own reassurance than Morty’s. “I’ll make you… I can m-make you forget, Morty. You… you won’t have to r-remember --” Rick swallows, unable to bring the words into existence.

  _(You won’t have to remember that Grandpa touched you.)_

Morty’s wheezes turn into a loud, wet, hacking sound and Rick places a worried hand in between Morty’s shoulder blades. Something crackles inside and Morty shudders, groaning in between violent coughs as he tries to suck down more oxygen than he is able.

Rick frowns.

“M-Morty…?”

Morty doesn’t respond.

He’s trembling.

Rick feels a stab of worry as he notes Morty’s face: eyes squeezed shut in obvious discomfort. Rick’s seen Morty panic before and this isn’t it. Morty's the sort of boy to keep his eyes wide open in the face of fear.

Tentatively, Rick places a hand against Morty’s forehead.

“You’re burning up…” Rick mutters,  easing Morty down so he’s lying on his side. Morty's sweating and continues to clutch at his chest and cough. He covers his mouth with his other hand and Rick can’t help an amused smirk –- after all, it seems pretty ridiculous to be polite at this point...

He wraps his fingers around Morty’s wrist and gently pries the kid's hand away from his mouth.

Rick’s heart sinks.

Among the sputum coating Morty's fingers lie streaks of fresh blood.

“Oh _shit_ …” Rick feels sick to his stomach. His mind reels. “Morty… fuck…”

He seizes the portal gun and fires. His own makeshift operating theatre might not cut it this time, not if there’s a real emergency.

Rick gathers Morty into his arms and sprints through to the hospital, praying desperately that they make it in time.

 

* * *

 

 

“My grandson’s coughing up blood!”

The human nurse blinks stupidly in surprise at the old man who has flung himself  in front of her seemingly out of nowhere.

“ _Well?_ ” Rick barks. “Y-y-you – are you gonna help him or what?!”

The nurse picks up the phone on the desk and before Rick can think, they’re both surrounded by people in scrubs. Rick lowers Morty onto a stretcher and watches mournfully as his lifeline is quickly wheeled away, Morty’s eyes wide and pleading as he disappears behind the double-doors of the emergency ward. Blood is now coating his chin and shirt.

Rick keeps his face deliberately blank.

When the kid’s finally gone, Rick deflates into the nearest waiting room chair. He buries his head in his hands.

“Morty _…_ ” Rick whispers under his breath. "Oh god. What have I done to you?"

* * *

 

 

“…Jeezus, what the fuck happened to this kid?”

 

“…multiple contusions…”

 

“…Kid’s grandfather seems to think he has a cracked rib...”

 

“…clavicle fracture…”

 

“…pneumothorax caused by rib fracture…”

 

 “…second and third degree burns on both feet…”

 

“…was this kid hit by a _car?”_

 

“Can you tell us your name?” someone finally asks.

Morty blinks away the darkness.

“Mor—” but Morty can’t manage anything else. He can’t breathe without feeling as though he’s being stabbed in the chest. Everything _hurts_. He coughs, a crime for which his lungs immediately punish him. He closes his eyes tight.

Where is Rick? He was holding him, it was nice, he liked it, and then… then something inside him seemed to crack and he couldn’t breathe, and he ended up here surrounded by strangers and the smell of blood.

What happened? Did he do something wrong? Is this Hell?

Everything starts to go dark again as someone yells, “he’s losing oxygen!”

Morty doesn’t remember anything else.

 

* * *

 

 

Rick’s been handed a form which he is barely able to read. His vision keeps blurring, not from tears, no, just from exhaustion.

Alright, maybe his eyes are a little dry so they’re watering. But he’s not crying. Not really.

A nurse with a blonde ponytail and pink scrubs approaches him cautiously. She lowers herself down into the seat next to Rick very slowly as though she is afraid of startling a skittish animal.

Rick could punch her.

“Hi, I’m Emma,” she speaks slowly and smiles with fake sympathy.

Rick grunts in response.

“I just need to ask a couple of questions…”

“You would.”

Emma’s fake smile looks even faker as her eyes die a little. Rick glares at her. This bitch isn’t allowed to be offended. Morty’s the one who is fucking suffering here…

“So, you say the boy you brought in— _uhh_ —Mortimer?” She looks at the form currently attached to her clipboard, which Rick haphazardly filled out moments earlier.

“Morty.” Rick corrects.

“—is your grandson?”

“Correct.”

“Can I ask where his parents are?”

“You can _ask_.”

“Does that mean you are his legal guardian?”

Rick pales.

Rick has only ever really seen Morty two ways: a sentient cloaking device which he drags around wherever he pleases, and a (surprisingly wise) idiot.

_(You also see him as a fucktoy. You’ve been looking at him that way for years now. Don’t try to deny it.)_

It was easy to forget that Morty was, by legal terms at least, a _child_.

“No,” Rick admits. “I’m not his legal guardian.”

The nurse nods. “Okay, well, we need to alert his parents or his legal guardians that he’s here, so y-you’ll have to fill out a form with their contact details.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Rick takes the form and adds it to the pile on the seat beside him.

“I also need to ask a few more questions…” Emma continues. She starts blabbering about loco parentis, child rights, and medical procedures while Rick clenches his fists and tries very, _very_ hard not to think about hitting the stupid cunt.

Morty is off choking on his own blood while he’s messing about with _bureaucracy._

“So, can you tell me what happened?” Emma finally asks. “What was Morty doing before you brought him in?”

_(He was being felt up by a sick bastard)_

_Shut up!_

“He was on the couch. We were…”

_(Dry-humping.)_

“…watching TV.”

Emma nods. Her face is mock-sympathetic again. Rick silently counts to ten. “And when did you notice Morty displaying signs of respiratory distress?”

Rick glares at Emma. “I don’t know, okay! Jeez… he was—he was fine…”

_(No he wasn’t, you creepy old man. He was bleeding, he was crying, he was begging you to stop and you still pushed yourself on him, he was in so much pain…)_

_Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!_

“…he just started coughing. I thought he was having a panic attack but then—y’know—he started coughing up blood and I was li-like, hey, mm- _maybe_ that’s not, y’know, normal, y’know? Not that I’m a d _-OHH-_ ctor or anything—actually I’m better, not that I have anything to prove—but _usually_ that’s a bad sign.” Rick says sarcastically and chucks the completed forms at Emma. “You gonna call his parents?”

“Yes, I’m afraid we have to.”

“Hoo boy,” Rick takes the flask out of his inner coat pocket. “That’s gonna be a _treat._ ”

“Sir, I’m afraid you can’t drink that in here,” Emma tells him.

Rick leans back in his seat and smiles nastily. “I understand you have to say that.”

 

* * *

 

“What the fuck did you do to our boy?” Jerry shouts. “You leave for just a couple of hours and _BAM!_ There’s a call from the freaking _hospital!_ ”

Much to Rick’s annoyance but not to his surprise, Jerry has recovered his nerve since being almost strangled to death a few hours earlier. Knowing the average fool’s mind, Rick can safely presume he has probably already forgotten how close he came to certain doom as a kind of safe-guard against insanity. Made up a palatable little story about how his father-in-law just lost his temper for a bit and he wasn't in any  _real_ danger.

Idiots just don’t learn, do they?

“Well gee, _Jerry_ , he _was_ in an explosion,” Rick glares.

“Yes. An explosion, I seem to recall, that _you_ caused!” Beth looks accusingly at Jerry.

“Oh, I cannot _believe_ this!” Jerry rounds on Beth. “Rick sets up dangerous _explosives_ in our garage and _I_ am the one blamed when one actually serves its purpose and blows up?”

“Well, why were you even messing with it in the first place?” Beth snaps.

“That’s a good question, _Jerry!_ ” Rick glares.

“I was looking for propane for the barbecue!” Jerry cries, exasperated, “y’know? Something _normal_ people do on summer evenings! Instead of galivanting around the universe—”

“ _Ahem._ Multiverse.” Rick coughs.

“—where they could get eaten or ripped apart by god-knows-what!”

“Hey, so… does anyone want to know how Morty’s doing or are you guys just having fun arguing?” Summer asks coolly.

A doctor in a white lab coat is standing next to her wearing a very perplexed expression.

Rick shrugs, pulling out his flask, he had presumed by now that the people in their town were all used to the Smiths’ sci-fi weirdness but judging by the doctor’s comical _what-the-fuck_ expression, apparently not.

“Tell these idiots,” Rick burps immoderately, “— _eehhhhhrrp—_ I’m g-g _ohh_ nna go take a shit.”

He abandons the group in favour of the bathroom. As he leaves, he hears the doctor state his name before suggesting the Smith Family all take a seat.

Rick’s stomach drops and he quickly seizes the flask from his coat pocket.

When a doctor tells a patient’s family to sit down, it’s never a good sign…

 

When Rick returns Beth is crying, and Jerry has his arm around her. Even Summer’s tearing up.

_…Fucking called it._

“So, w-what’s _uhh_ p?” Rick asks nonchalantly.

“He said Morty’s got a collapsed lung,” Summer explains. “Amongst other problems.”

“It probably happened when he fell. He—his feet were badly burned in the explosion, his shoes have—oh _god—_ melted into his skin,” Beth sobs. “And apparently he’s suffered m-multiple breaks and soft tissue damage over at least the past six months…”

Rick listens.

It all adds up but at the same time… it doesn’t.

He knows Morty gets injured, sometimes due to his own ineptitude, sometimes because Rick gets reckless… but he always patches the kid up, always injects him with something to render the damage almost non-existent.

He remembers back to the day he accidentally shot straight through Morty’s hand. The fix took under half an hour, though the kid screamed hilariously for several minutes afterwards due to the shock. Or the day when Morty broke both his legs from a fall, the fix was less than a minute. When Morty was ripped apart by that wolfman, well  _that_ was a rare exception due to blood loss and proximity to vital organs.

The damage shouldn't be nearly  _this_ bad.

“No offense _doctor_ ,” Rick air-quotes, “but I think I know this kid’s a-a-anatomy a li – _errhhp_ – little better than you and that’s imp –- _eeahhp_ –- impossible. He gets injured, _obviously_ , be-be-because any idiot w- _would_ when they’ve got a below-average IQ and they’re faced with a universe that’ll kill you for _fun._ So, in conclusion, good sir, you’re a useless piece of shit, and the pharmaceuticals in my –- in my arsenal are more tha _AHH_ n enough to take care of the situation.”

“No offense Grandpa Rick, but that's horseshit.”

All faces turn to Summer.

A surge of hot anger flushes through Rick’s veins and his top lip curls as he rounds on his defiant granddaughter.

“Don’t I?” Rick snaps, “Oh! Oh! I’m _so sorry_ you fell for this asshole’s authoritative white-coat-and-clipboard routine, _Summer._ But s _UHH_ me of us… _eehhhrp…_ ” Rick combines a burp with a violent hiccup and a glob of drool escapes down his chin, “c-can actually think for our –- _braaahp –-_ for ours-s-selves!”

“You’re drunk, Grandpa Rick!” Summer snaps. “And you’re an idiot. Anyone paying even the slightest bit of attention can see Morty’s been throwing himself into danger ‘cause he _wants_ to get carved up. I’m barely even home, and even I can see it!”

The group is stunned into silence.

But Summer doesn’t stop there.

“You two are still so obsessed with hating each other, you’ve completely missed that Morty’s been stumbling about drunk for the past month!” Summer shoots at Beth and Jerry who both stare at her slack-jawed.

 _Morty’s been drunk?_ Rick sways a little. How had he failed to notice an important detail like that?

He looks at the flask in his hand.

_Oh._

“And _you!”_ Summer turns her furious glare upon Rick, “I can’t even bring myself to be mad at you. No one expects _you_ to pay any attention or to treat Morty like he’s an actual person. To you, he’s like a toy. Just another worthless meaningless _thing_ that exists for your use, like your portal gun or your ship!”

_That’s not true! That’s not true at all!_

Rick blinks. His mouth feels dry.

…Why does everything look all watery?

“So don’t worry, Grandpa Rick, no one’s shocked _you_ didn’t notice anything’s wrong.”

_I noticed. I just…_

_(You just...)_

“Summer, I know you expect me to be somehow _offended_ by such an _oh-so-cutting_ remark –- ” Rick begins.

But Summer cuts him off.

“Nope. I don’t expect anything of you,” she shrugs. “Except that, after Morty gets out of ICU, you’ll whisk him away somewhere and once again it’ll be all up in the air as to whether we’ll ever see him again.” Summer’s face crumples. “My Mom and Dad won’t notice or say anything… but _I’ll_ miss him.”

Rick stares, stunned, while Summer pulls her phone out of her pocket, determinedly thumbing through her messages while silent tears roll down her cheeks.

Summer Smith...

Who would have thought the shallow ordinary teenager would have such keen observational skills? It’s unnerving and yet… it’s rather obvious now that Rick thinks about it. Summer has always managed to surpass his expectations in a way very few could. As frustrated as he might be, Rick can’t help the warm glow of affection he feels for his granddaughter at that moment.

...or maybe that’s the scotch.

Rick heaves a sigh. “So can we see him?” he asks the doctor.

The doctor looks grave. “He’s still in critical condition,” he explains. 

“Then I’m leaving.” Summer announces.

“What?” begins Jerry.

“Absolutely not!” cries Beth.

“ _I’ve_ barely been home this past summer,” Summer glares at her parents, “and you two didn’t notice. So I’m not sure why _now_ you’ve decided that I’m not allowed out of your presence but I’m going for a long walk while I figure out how to deal _with my little brother being in the ICU!”_

With that final verbal bombshell, Summer turns on her heel and strides determinedly out of the waiting room.

Beth and Jerry turn to face each other. Both are silent but their eyes are saying a million words a minute.

Rick knows the cue.

“Welp!” he burps. “I’m gonna go too. Call me when Mor-Morty’s stable or –- I dunno –- _whatever._ ”

He departs through the double-doors and looks up to find Summer right outside. She’s leaning against the brick wall of the hospital building, hugging herself and crying silently. She doesn’t look at Rick when he approaches.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Summer sniffs, furiously rubbing at her mascara-streaked cheeks.

“So…” Rick coughs awkwardly. “Lotta—lotta stuff you said in there. A lot to take in.”

“Yeah,” Summer looks miserably at her shoes.

Rick leans against the wall next to her. He looks up at the stars.

…Well, he would if he could see them.

There are more stars—more _wonders—_ up there than the human mind could possibly imagine, but the bright lights of the city have stained the sky an endless black, hiding any trace of them from view.

Rick’s reminded, unsettlingly, of Morty’s dark eyes that night in the ship when Morty was numbed out on painkillers.

_‘I love you Rick’_

Rick knows there’s still light somewhere beyond the pollution.

It’s definitely still there.

Morty’s still Morty.

 

…Right?

 

“I knew.” Rick says quietly.

“Huh?” Summer turns her head to look at him.

“I knew -– _know_ \-- Morty… he’s…” Rick trails off. He’s not sure how to complete that sentence.

“Morty’s a mess,” says Summer, point-blank.

“Yeah. W-we’ll go with that.”

Summer looks blankly ahead. “Kay.”

“Do you… did you also know he’s started cutting himself?” Rick mentions.

“Psh! You think he only just _started?!_ ” Summer sneers. “He’s been doing _that_ since eighth grade.”

“Noted.”

There’s an awkward pause. Summer looks a wreck and she's looking at Rick as though he's something a dog would scrape off its ass but at least she isn’t crying anymore. Rick figures that hating him probably feels pretty good right now. Fair enough. 

_You're not the only one, Summer._

“So…” Rick tries. “Wh-what else do you know?”

Summer sighs.

“Look,” she turns, exasperated, “I don’t know a lot. Morty and I don’t exactly sit around talking gay shit about our feelings. This is just stuff I’ve seen.” Summer looks thoughtfully at the sky. “But, y’know, Morty doesn’t exactly tell people when he’s in pain –-”

_Hoo boy, doesn’t that sound familiar?_

“—He just… _deals_ , y’know?”

“Yeah,” Rick nods. “Yeah, I know.”

There’s another long silence between them, more amicable than the first. Rick relaxes slightly.

“You’re lucky to have him,” Summer states finally.

Rick doesn’t look at her.

Then Summer laughs drily.

“You know,” she snickers, “Mom made him see a shrink last year.”

“Yeah?” Rick grins.

“It was after he started wetting his desk at school.”

“Yeah, w-w-what was up with—with that, anyway?” Rick asks curiously. He pulls out his flask and offers it to Summer, who takes it readily.

“Oh, it was totally weird,” Summer rolls her eyes. “He developed this sudden phobia of tight spaces. Or…I dunno…toilet cubicles at least.”

Rick snorts with laughter. “Jeez, after everything he’s seen _that’s_ the thing that sets him off?”

Summer giggles.

"I know right?!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summer is actually my favourite character on the show, aside from the two titular characters, so of course I had to give her a shining moment where she schools her "Grandpa Rick." 
> 
> ...Next chapter will be uploaded tonight!


	8. Chapter 8

It’s been days.

Morty has set Rick way behind in his work and Rick has a lot to catch up on before he visits the stupid kid in hospital. And the garage blowing up didn’t exactly help, now he has to repair that as well as catch up on his other projects…

Morty will just have to wait.

_(He’s better off without you.)_

_So?_

_(You abusive narcissistic creep. How many times did he beg you to stop before you did?)_

Rick counters out loud this time. “Ugh! S-so what? I… I don’t need his… his _permission_. I’m a Rick. _The_ Rick. I can do what I like to the universe and no one can -–”

_(To the universe)_

A voice deep inside himself reminds him.

( _What right have you to Morty?)_

But it’s not about ‘Rights.’

“Morty’s a _part_ of the universe, dummy,” Rick scolds himself. “His existence is as pointless as the rest of it!”

_(Then why are you so worried about him?)_

“I’m _not_ worried about him!" Rick shouts at no one, "I don’t care if he’s hauled up in some human hospital.”

Rick's tormented mind travels back to something he said to his daughter not too long ago:

_‘You know,”_ he had told her, _“smart people get a chance to climb on top, take reality for a ride, but it’ll never stop trying to throw you._

_And, eventually, it will._

_There’s no other way off_.’

…Is the universe finally bucking?

 

Rick has known for a long time that he has an irrational -- at times, obsessive -- attachment to Morty. He’s man enough to admit that and he’s smart enough to have figured out why it’s there. After all, love and hate are not opposites as mundane people like to believe. No, scientifically speaking, _indifference_ is love’s adversary. And try as Rick might, it is impossible to remain indifferent to the kid.

He hates stupidity too much.

And the sexual attraction? A side-effect, no doubt, of the shared chaos of their lives. Nothing more serious than that. 

He hates idiots.

He especially hates idiots who injure themselves all the time and ask stupid questions and read to much into things and get cocky when _occasionally_ they stumble their way into being half-right about something.

So why does Rick swell with pride when he watches his grandson best someone in an argument? Why does his blood chill when he sees the boy in pain? Why is it so important that he constantly reminds Morty –- and by extension himself –- that the kid isn’t special? (And he’s not! _He’s not!_ ) Why does he keep coming back for him?

Why did he kiss him?

More importantly…

 

_(Why did you stop?)_

And then it hits him.

 

“Oh no.”

Rick collapses onto a stool.

“Oh. Oh please merciful God, no!”

He hastily unscrews his hipflask only to screw it closed again and throw it away.

_What’s the point in escaping?_ Rick thinks miserably as the metal clatters against the asphalt. He’s smart, which means now that Rick knows the truth, he can’t possibly _un-know_ it.

It was no longer a question of what or why, it was a question of _when_.

When did Rick Sanchez fall in love with his own grandson?

Rick buries his head in his hands. How could he have been so careless?

 

Reality is laughing at him.

 

* * *

 

 

A portal opens in Morty’s hospital room and Rick strides through. He’s buzzed but not properly drunk yet. Thankfully, Morty is sound asleep.

He’s wired to every machine the hospital could have thought up yet it’s still not enough to fix or even monitor the damage. Why did Rick even bring him here? An alien hospital would have been better. Better tech at least even if they may have had some trouble figuring out what a human is. Morty’s punctured lung could have been fixed in a matter of minutes instead of days and they wouldn’t have to keep x-raying him.

But that’s not where the real damage lies.

Rick pulls up a chair and downs the rest of his liquor. He stifles a burp and gently places a hand on Morty’s head, carefully smoothing back Morty’s hair in order to feel for a fever. Morty must be exhausted, or possibly sedated, because the boy doesn’t even stir.

He’s so unnervingly _still._

Rick shudders.

“M-Morty…I…” Rick falters. What can he say?

_Hey bro, sorry for molesting you the other day?_

Rick coughs and a little bit of bile crawls its way up his throat. (Maybe he’s drunker than he thought.) Rick cringes. Turns out, visiting Morty isn’t any easier while drunk. Something about his helplessness…

_(You did this to him.)_

“I… Y-y-you’re gonna be… gonna be okay, Mo– _orghhh–_ Morty,” Rick whispers.

He sits like that for a while. Just gently caressing Morty’s soft hair and watching him sleep. After a while, even though he’s sober for the first time in days, Rick has to admit to himself that finds being close to Morty like this, even under the circumstances, is oddly soothing.

Morty really is a lot stronger than everyone believed. Rick smiles at him fondly. “Yeah,” he nods. “You’re gonna… gonna be okay…”

At that moment, Summer’s words come back to him:

_‘Anyone paying the slightest bit of attention can see Morty’s been throwing himself into danger like he wants to get carved up...’_

Rick’s eyes narrow and he looks at Morty’s sleeping face more critically.

Since finding the cuts on Morty’s arm, Morty – seemingly – hasn’t hurt himself since. But Rick must now admit to himself that he’s not actually _that_ good at observing the kid. And for that, he has only himself to blame.

When you know everything, ignorance is a choice.

He prays Morty won’t wake up as he gently peels back the hospital sheets, exposing Morty’s slim frame hidden beneath the thin cotton hospital gown. He feels like a real pervert doing this, but he quickly reminds himself it’s for Morty’s own good.

He carefully inspects the parts of Morty’s body which are usually hidden away. Everything except his genitals.

And there it is.

On Morty’s inner thighs, growing in severity as they get higher, is the _real_ damage. Morty’s cut wrist was nothing compared to this.

And from the looks of things, this isn’t new. Rick can see the scars which have healed and reopened. Each cut ugly, raw, and –- like before –- clearly made with something slightly blunt and easily accessible.

But… didn’t Rick remove all the sharps in Morty’s bedroom?

_Clearly not all of them,_ Rick thinks as he inspects the tell-tale half-moon fingernail scratches where Morty has desperately clawed at himself. _Shit… or maybe the kid just got his hands on some replacements…_

What’s Rick supposed to do? Rip out Morty’s fingernails? As annoyance pulses through him, Rick seriously considers it for a moment before he pushes the thought from his mind.

“Alright,” he says quietly to himself, as he covers Morty again with the sheet.

It’s time to formulate a plan…

 

* * *

 

 

When he’s finally home, Beth makes a big fuss over Morty’s return. It’s almost comical the way she fawns over the son she never actually bothered to visit in hospital. Rick cringes inwardly and tries not to meet Morty’s eye.

Calling her out would make him a hypocrite.

The front of the house is mostly tarp while the garage and kitchen are repaired but they eat breakfast in the dining room as usual. Beth has made chocolate chip pancakes and Rick watches scrupulously as Morty nudges them pitifully around his plate, smiling appreciatively at his mother and starting conversations quickly so no one notices his lack of appetite. Now that Rick’s aware of it, he can’t believe he didn’t spot it before.

When the food is cut-up but still uneaten, Rick finally speaks. “You should finish that,” he says sternly.

“Huh?”

“Your pancakes. You should finish them.” Rick says bluntly, still not looking at Morty directly.

“Oh,” Morty looks sheepish. “Um…well…I’m a little –- a little full after…”

“What? Y-you filled up on hospital food before you got here?” Rick sneers.

Morty flinches. “Uh. Well… um… sh-sure, I’ll –- I’ll finish them…”

Rick does his best to stare him down without directly looking Morty in the eye as Morty shovels some of the syrup-drenched paste into his mouth. The pancakes won’t be as delicious as they could be if he’d eaten them fresh when they were still warm and fluffy and the syrup sat on _top_ , but that’s just the consequence of Morty’s stupidity and vanity. He’ll learn. He has to.

Morty finishes and rises from the table.

“Off already?” Beth asks.

“Y-yeah,” Morty replies, “Gotta…uh… g-gotta –- gonna hang out in my room for a bit.”

Rick follows Morty shortly after. He can hear Morty retching in the upstairs bathroom, clearly the syrup-butter-paste tasted as bad as it looked.

_Serves him right,_ Rick thinks ruefully. He fires a portal and leaves to get some work done elsewhere.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s late when Rick returns through the portal and into Morty’s bedroom. The room stinks of alcohol with the smell centred on Morty who lies unconscious on his back.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure this one out.

“Alright, Morty,” Rick whispers, “where’re you stashing it?”

Rick checks under Morty’s bed, his sock drawer, behind his bedside table, his closet, the draws of his desk…

…nothing.

The kid’s getting clever. Rick really shouldn’t feel proud, but he can’t quite help himself. The only feeling more prominent is the budding frustration at the base of Rick’s neck. He grits his teeth.

Outsmarted by a fucking _Morty…_

No matter. Morty can’t outsmart him forever. And Rick has other important matters to tend to…

Rick pulls out his suitcase and gently rolls Morty onto his stomach. This isn’t the first time he’s done this, and though it takes some skill, he knows how to handle an unconscious Morty without waking him.

Once it was to change Morty’s anatomy so that he could turn into a car at will -– as far as Rick’s aware it never worked properly –- but he’s also done it for various other experiments that Morty probably wouldn’t have consented to if he knew. Just minor upgrades and immunities. Nothing too fancy.

Rick swabs the nape of Morty’s neck with an alcoholic wipe and removes one of the syringes from the suitcase.

Except this time, it isn’t an experiment.

It’s insurance.

The syringe contains a tiny tracking chip, approximately 500 micrometres squared, which Rick designed himself and will hopefully remain unnoticed by Morty. Rick screws on the hypodermic needle and inserts it just underneath Morty’s skin.

Normally Morty twitches a little, even in his sleep, but tonight Morty doesn’t even stir.

Concerned, Rick leans in close and inhales familiar spice of liquor laced with something a little less legal and a lot more fun. Rick would be very surprised if the stupid kid doesn’t puke his guts out as soon as he wakes up tomorrow.

_For fuck’s sake, Morty,_ Rick thinks crossly of his own arsenal of painkillers and sedatives,  _if you wanted to pass out so badly, you could have_ _just asked._

_(But he won’t, will he?)_

Rick figures it will be a very long time before Morty ever asks for his help again.

_(Not after what you did to him.)_

After inserting the chip, Rick pulls the tracking monitor out of his coat pocket. It seems to be working fine but he’ll have to test it properly when Morty’s out and about. And that could be a while off given his injuries.

Though, given Morty’s stubbornness and newfound unpredictability, the kid could somehow sneak off in only a matter of hours…

Rick’s heart hurts at the thought but he’s relieved now he’ll finally be getting some answers.

He pulls out his portal gun and fires, knowing he’ll sleep a lot easier at the penthouse tonight.


	9. Chapter 9

The tracking chip Rick designed can do a lot more than just monitor Morty’s movements. It also monitors Morty’s vitals and tells Rick about his biological needs and functions.

So far, Rick’s pleased with the progress. Not only is the chip functioning well, Morty’s life _seems_ to be relatively normal.

Sure, his heart rate increased suddenly at around noon, and it had alarmed Rick at first, but then he noticed Morty’s increased levels of dopamine, epinephrine, and serotonin and realized Morty was probably talking to Jessica.

Rick feels a throb of jealousy, which he quickly stuffs into the back of his mind.

Alright, so Rick’s in love with the boy -– it’s stupid, sick, and irrational but at least Rick’s man enough to admit it.

But more importantly…

Rick is _smart._

And like most smart people, Rick is perfectly aware that _‘Love’_ is nothing more than a fun little cocktail of dopamine, oxytocin, and vasopressin sprinkled with sex hormones and a little epinephrine on the side. His attachment to Morty is just that. Just a drug. A cocktail. An overstimulation of receptors. Nothing more.

The babyface helps of course. Human beings are instinctively drawn to creatures with small mouths and big nocturnal eyes surrounded by thick eyelashes and soft wavy hair and…

_(Don’t think about it!)_

Hell, he successfully brewed it once. Maybe he could do it again now that he understands it better, put together all the chemicals and hormones that make a person fall in love, flavour it with strawberry, sell it to lonely addicts…

Rick laughs out loud at the thought. If he could figure out how to brew love without some moronic sidekick Cronenberging the planet (little turd should have told him it was ‘flu season), he’d make a fortune…

Rick smiles greedily.

…But it’d pale in comparison to the _antidote._

He’s certain it’s possible. After all, the other him managed to pull a rabbit out of his hat there so why not him? It’s a good idea. A real money-maker.

_(A necessity.)_

Rick smirks and takes a swig from his flask, looking back down at the tracking device.

Morty’s been in the bathroom for a long time though he hasn’t sat in a cubicle at all. He’s just sort of… standing there.

Rick loses interest quickly and decides to get some work done. He shouldn’t be indulging himself like this anyway now that he knows what the next step in the plan needs to be. Morty’s fine, he’s back at school, he’s chasing girls…

Rick drains his flask and moves to the bar to fix himself a drink.

He’s above love, he reminds himself. Above all attachments and affections. He doesn’t need to muck about with something so lame and trivial and… and… _human._

Ridiculous.

Rick gets very, _very_ drunk that evening. The purple-skinned receptionist watches wide-eyed as he strides through the lobby with a giggling alien hooker on each arm. Rick glares at the nosy little bitch.

Then he remembers: The last she would have seen of Morty was him disappearing, dishevelled and abused, into the hotel elevator.

 _Fuck her,_ thinks Rick. _Let her judge away. I’ve got nothing to prove._

He downs the last of his cruiser before pressing the button to his floor elevator. It’s going to be a fun night.

 

* * *

 

 

Rick fires his portal gun and steps through into Morty’s bedroom for the second time that month. He checks the tracking device again, good, Morty’s fast asleep. He begins searching.

 _This time_ , Rick tells himself, _I’ll find it._ Morty can’t outsmart Rick forever. And if Rick’s run out of sensible places to look, he’s going to have to get creative. Rick taps on the walls of the bedroom, he feels around the wallpaper to check for notches or holes, then he checks the carpet.

He tidies as he goes – _stupid Morty had better thank me for this_ – and finally finds the corner of the room with the loosened-up carpet.

 _Aha!_ Rick pulls the carpet free and easily finds the wobbly floorboard beneath it. He’s rather proud of himself though he must admit, now that he thinks about it, this is all pretty cliché.

And there it is: Morty’s stash! It’s pretty tame, really. Beer, wine, some hard liquor. A couple of boxes of pills. It’s almost cute. Rick smirks to himself.

It’s crowded in there though, Morty is clearly too stupid to come up with a way of successfully hiding the empty liquor bottles because they’re cluttering up the small space and making it difficult to navigate. Rick extracts the bottles with substances inside them first and then gets to work removing the empty ones. Most of them are broken, which is amusing. Rick imagines Morty getting frustrated with the empty bottle and chucking it across the room.

Morty’s anger has always endeared the boy to Rick, like a kitten that believes it’s a tiger.

The only problem more prominent than Morty’s repressed rage is his stubborn reluctance to admit it.

Rick carefully lifts out one of the broken bottles and pauses.

Even in the dim moonlight, Rick can see the specks of red where blood has dried on the glass. When he holds each shard up to the window he can see where the older blood has dried and newer blood has overlapped it, creating darker shades of crimson.

 

_Cheap. Easily Accessible. Slightly blunt._

 

So… _this_ is how the little turd’s been doing it.

Rick sighs sadly. He opens a portal to somewhere he can don a pair of thick rubber gloves and quietly removes every shard of glass he can find in the darkness. He plans to return during daylight hours so he can also vacuum the inside of the space. Make it so there is nothing left for Morty to hurt himself.

 

Without Morty’s well-being plaguing his mind, Rick will finally move on.

He has to.

 

* * *

 

 

Rick lies spread-eagled upon the ruined sheets, a thin film of sweat covering his feverish skin. An ethereally beautiful pearl-skinned alien lies face down between his legs, lapping the last of the come from his wilting cock.

He’s as resilient as he’s ever been and he hates himself for it, no sexual encounter ever leaving him satiated and nothing tasting quite the way he’d built it up in his imagination. His cock will be hard again in a matter of minutes.

Always indulging himself. Never satisfied.

Rick is fucking cursed.

“Hey, uh…” Rick snaps his fingers by his temple, trying to remember… “Underlay?”

“Ündenei,” the alien looks up. She brushes long turquoise hair out of her face, her skin seems to sparkle in the low light. Though that may just be the K-lax Rick snorted out of her ass.

“That’s… that’s the one!” Rick nods. “You uh… you wanna stop that? I think my cock’s clean enough.”

“Of course,” Ündenei crawls up over Rick and leans down to look at him, a seductive smile curling on her lips, “are you keen for another round? ‘Cause I can go all night.”

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

“Why? You want him to join us?”

Rick belches, sending Ündenei’s hair fluttering in the breeze. She blinks beautiful eyes down at him.

“Y-you better be serious about that,” Rick replies tersely. Ündenei slides an arm around Rick in order to hold him and Rick quickly gets to his feet, striding out of the bedroom and into the bar. Ündenei follows suit. “’Cause I’ve got one hell of an appetite.”

Ündenei giggles. “I’m afraid he’s a bit shy, but I can bring along some of my servants. Male, female, some stuff in between… whatever you like, Rick,” Ündenei leans seductively over the bar. “You saved my life and the lives of all my people. It’s the least I can do to repay you. Just place your order.”

“Sh-sure, y’know what?” Rick says after swallowing down a mouthful of vodka, he fires a portal gun at the wall. “Surpr- _EHHH-ize me.”_

Ündenei brings through the portal two tall male aliens, both with silvery white skin like her, and Rick enjoys them both. She invites two of her personal handmaids to join them next. One is tall with dark blue skin, the other pale green.

Rick is particularly impressed with the little green alien. She’s shorter than average. Shoulder-length rust-coloured curls frame her face perfectly and her eyes are large and dark. She smiles shyly and Rick ruffles her hair affectionately. From the slightly lost look on her face, he gets the impression she isn't very bright. 

“What’s your name?” he asks fondly.

“Mordenei,” she replies and nods at Ündenei, “but my mistress prefers to call me Mordie.”

Rick jerks his hand away as though he’s been burned.

“Get out.”

“Huh?” Ündenei steps forward. “Rick…?”

“You heard me,” Rick snaps. “Out.”

Ündenei shoots him a foul look and ushers her servants out of the hotel suite. She turns back to look questioningly at Rick but Rick turns away from her and quickly busies himself at the bar.

“You too!” he barks.

The door slams shut.

Rick needs to hurry up and get back to work on his cure. He’s close, he’s sure of it.

 

* * *

 

 

With the tracking device abandoned, and with it every thought that dared stray back to Morty. Rick can devote every waking moment to fucking as many people and aliens and things as he can. He watches porn –- the real nasty stuff too –- but it’s not just for his own pleasure.

It’s all in the name of research.

Rick’s certain that enough sexual debauchery will somehow fry his dopamine receptors and let him go back to thinking of Morty as nothing more than the less-than-intelligent mammal his progeny gave birth to. Once he does that, he can focus, regain control.

And finally cure this sickness.

He still makes appearances at the house for breakfast and dinner, for no other reason but to appease Beth. He avoids Morty altogether now, keeping any unavoidable interactions brief and never without a third person in the room.

It isn’t for Morty’s benefit, of course. It’s for Rick’s.

He knows Morty’s going to want to _talk_ and Rick’s got more pressing concerns than mucking about with Morty’s superficial teenage feelings.

And after every visit, Rick announces he’s heading back to the hotel. He doesn’t hide what he’s doing. He’s going to snort things off triple-breasted mermaids and get his dick nice and wet. And yes, he will probably be hungover tomorrow but if Morty _really_ needs a ride to school tomorrow he can always call.

And Morty never does.

Rick strides through the portal. He hasn’t made eye-contact with Morty in nearly a month.

This is good. This is progress.

They’re both moving on.

Rick uncorks a wine bottle in celebration.

“Hello, Rick,” Rick’s own voice startles him out of his own mind.

“Oh… fuck,” Rick pinches the bridge of his nose. “What the fuck are you two doing here?” Rick asks the two Ricks currently standing in the middle of the room.

“We wa- _OHH-_ nted to ask about some contraband darkmatter weaponry,” the first Rick states. “But had some diff – diff – _trouble_ finding you.”

“Uh-huh,” Rick pours himself a scotch. “And this meant you had to – _brehhhp_ – come – _errrhhp –_ a-and bother me here because…?”

“ _Because,_ ” the more aggressive of the Ricks drawls, “until a month ago, you’ve been completely invisible. No one can track your brainwaves. Not even us.”

“That sounds like your problem,” Rick smirks.

“Oh w-we’re not denying that,” one of the Ricks shrugs, “we just wanna know the secret.”

“Yeah,” the other one smiles, “the _Why_ is everyone else’s problem, the _What_ is ours.”

“Well I hate to bur- _urrgh_ -urst your bubble, gentlemen,” Rick states simply as he swirls an ice cube around inside his whiskey glass, “but I have no idea what you’re talking about. Your guess is as good as mine at this point. As you can – _braaahhp_ – see by the décor,” the pair glance around the trashed hotel room, “I haven’t exactly been putting in an effort to hide from anyone.” Rick shrugs. “Hell, maybe I snorted something that messed with my brainwaves, maybe I’m high more than I’m drunk now, maybe I’ve contracted an alien STD? Who _knows?_ The possibilities are _endless!_ ”

The Ricks exchange looks.

 _You know it’s none of those things._ A tiny voice whispers in the back of Rick’s mind. _Think about it…_

“S-so how long have you guys been – _braaahhp_ – trying to find me?” Rick simpers.

“A couple of months, maybe?”

Rick snorts. “Wow, s-seriously? Oh my god you guys are _dumb_.”

“Yeah, yeah,” one of the Ricks waves him off. “Look, he –- he doesn’t know anything we don’t.”

“Yeah, I figured,” the second one rolls his eyes and fires his portal gun. “See ya round, Rick.”

“ _Pfft!_ Yeah, I think we both know _that’s_ not true!” Rick cackles as the pair depart, grinning as he refills his wine glass. “Fucking hell I’m brilliant!” He smiles proudly. “Only _I_ could find a way to hide my – my – my _genius_ brainwaves without even fucking _trying_ , without even thinking about it!” Rick boasts to no one. “Once I figure out how I did it, I’ll be un-fucking- _stoppable_. I mean, seriously,” Rick sips his scotch, “I didn’t even have my full faculties this month. I didn’t even have –-”

Rick’s glass slips through his fingers. It lands on the carpeted floor with a small ‘ _pomph,’_ splashing whiskey all over Rick’s slippers.

 

_“ –- Morty.”_

Rick moves fast. He’s throwing aside his belongings, searching desperately.

“ _Where is it?_ ” He cries desperately. “Where is the goddamn fucking _tracking device_? _”_

It was so obvious! He’d even fiddled with the idea himself –- even if only on paper –- before he’d found himself so irrationally attached to the stupid kid.

_(You mean you fell in lo –-)_

“Shit! Oh shit! Oh _shit!_ ” Rick seizes every sci-fi rectangular blinking thing he can find –- and there are an awful lot of them –- only to cast it worthlessly aside. Where in the _hell_ had he put the stupid thing? Why the _fuck_ hadn’t been paying attention again? Why’d he make it in the first place if he wasn’t actually going to _look?!_

He remembers Summer’s cruel but accurate statement:

 

‘ _No one expects_ you _to pay any attention or to treat Morty like a person. To you, he’s like a toy.’_

 

Technically everyone is a toy: ragdolls that the universe throws about and then tosses aside. Morty isn’t an exception. He isn’t special.

But Morty is _his._

And no matter what the universe throws at the kid, Rick wants to be the one standing in the way.

Finally, Rick finds it. It clatters to the floor as Rick upends a drawer and he pounces on it.

Morty’s at school. Okay, good, good, school’s good…

Though it’s a little weird that he’s at school at eight o’clock at _night_.

Elevated heart rate, body temperature climbing, increased levels of epinephrine… Rick doesn’t think twice. He fires the portal gun and steps through into the high school shower room…

It smells of sweat and fear.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I believe I can see the future  
> 'Cause I repeat the same routine  
> I think I used to have a purpose  
> But then again, that might have been a dream..."
> 
> \-- Nine Inch Nails - 'Every Day Is Exactly The Same'

Morty Smith is completely In Control of his own life.

 

  * Get Up at 5.50.
  * Hide evidence of hangover: aspirin, toothpaste, shower. In that order.
  * Eat breakfast, try not to make direct eye-contact with anyone. Smile.
  * School 
  * Trip to the liquor store 4pm.
  * Drink ~~enough so he won’t wince when he moves~~.
  * Home by dinner time. Again, no eye-contact. Smile.
  * Upstairs straight after dinner.
  * ~~Mutilation~~.
  * Drink to fall asleep.
  * Rinse, repeat.



 

Of course, Morty sleeps poorly even with the alcohol. He must drink more each night in order to fall asleep.

That’s the trouble with insomnia. You’re never quite awake, never quite asleep. Morty drifts through life in a stupor. Nothing’s real, nothing matters, everything is fake. The only time he can feel anything is when he’s hurt and since he’s put his little business on a permanent hiatus, he’s left with ritualistic self-harm to fill that particular void.

He only cuts his thighs, so the damage is easily hidden from anyone who could tease him. But even though they’re hidden, Morty’s still left with crushing embarrassment and self-disgust just by knowing his shame is there on his skin. He wishes he could stop.

The ordeal has become routine. And routine has become a lifeline.

It’s not as though the act makes him feel any better. In fact, he must cut harder and deeper in order to feel anything at all.

(Rinse, repeat.)

Morty wonders if this is what it’s like to be Rick: knowing nothing matters and everything is pointless. Bird Person once told him Rick was in great pain. But this isn’t really _“pain”_ is it?

It’s nothing.

The only real problem now is his anxiety regarding the school bathrooms. Morty can’t look at a cubicle without feeling as though his rib cage is caving in. His breath comes in quick gasps and he needs to find somewhere open and big so he can breathe. The football field is typically a good bet. And if he really needs to, Morty can relieve himself out there if no one’s practicing. But usually, Morty doesn’t let himself pee during school hours and instead holds it until he gets home. It was uncomfortable at first but now it’s not so bad so long as Morty doesn’t eat or drink anything all day. And that’s no big deal. Morty doesn’t have an appetite anyway.

Morty is completely…

…enviably…

…unmistakably…

 

 In Control.

…

…

So why does he feel so unwell?

The headaches, the cramps, the constant stink of liquor and vomit on his breath (even he can smell it) which can’t be relieved no matter how much he brushes.

He’s cold. _All the time_. And when he isn’t freezing, he’s sweating. There’s no happy-medium and no reprieve, no way to relax. Occasionally his heart will pound erratically as though he’s been running for his life only to die down to a normal rhythm minutes later, leaving him winded and clutching at his chest. He assumes they're panic attacks and presumes they'll go away if he stays away from cubicles.

Morty wonders if this is the universe punishing him for lacking Control in the past. But he pushes harder, restricts more, resists every temptation that brushes his way. He’s so much stronger than his urges now, it’s almost second-nature to ignore them.

_Look what I can endure,_ Morty tells himself. He prays the universe is listening. _Look how In Control I am._

He sees Rick but increasingly sporadically, their adventures together have dwindled down to nothing (Morty misses them beyond words) and Rick hasn’t slept in the house since it was fully repaired. Morty knows what Rick’s doing of course, drowning himself in booze, smoking and snorting and fucking everything he can find, avoiding his family at all costs:

Avoiding _him._

Rick’s moved on.

It hurts. There’s no denying it. But the cruel fact is that kissing Morty is nothing more than a mistake, a regret. Rick won’t even look at Morty now and avoids him like he’s diseased.

Meanwhile, Morty replays the memory every night in his mind as he tries to fall asleep.

Morty could hate Rick for abandoning him this way and he wishes the memory could be erased, like Rick promised. That way, he wouldn’t keep thinking about it. Wouldn’t crave it. It’s the one temptation he can’t resist.

Why doesn’t Rick want him?

_What did Morty do?_

If Morty could cry, he’d drown.

 

* * *

 

 

Morty drinks a lot before he tucks himself into bed. He feels too cold again but thankfully the alcohol warms him up good and quick. His skin flushes hot against the cocoon of blankets as he finally begins to nod off. He hears a strange noise somewhere but quickly shoves it out of his mind, the drugs kick in and Morty drifts off into a restless sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

  * Trip to the liquor store 4pm.
  * Drink enough so he won’t wince when he moves.
  * Home by dinner time. Again, no eye-contact. Smile.
  * Upstairs straight after…



…Morty’s stomach drops.

_No..._

Someone found the loose floorboard and cleared out his pharmacy. The pills, the booze, even the broken glass has been vacuumed out. The space is emptyempty _empty_ and now Morty’s whole world is crashing down around him.

The room spins and Morty sinks heavily to his knees before curling into a ball in the middle of the floor. He’s trembling, sweating, he’s cold, he’s flushed. He bites his lip to stop himself from screaming.

He needed the contents of that space. _Needed it._ Even Morty can’t explain in words how important it is. Morty’s hugs his knees to his chest and whimpers quietly.

…Who emptied it? His mother? She was the most likely candidate, but it is admittedly hard to imagine Beth doing something like that without confronting Morty about it specifically. Summer? She would. She probably thought it was hilarious.

What the fuck is he supposed to do now? He _needs_ those bottles. Those pills. That glass. He _needs_ them to sleep. He _needs_ them to function. Even when he doesn’t use them, he _needs_ to at least know that they’re there. 

He had no idea how terrifying it would be to not have the safety net until it was gone.

He needs them in order to keep himself in a constant state of --

Morty’s stomach lurches and bile bubbles up into his throat. His saliva glands begin to pump painfully, and he leaps to his feet in order to sprint into the bathroom.

There isn’t much inside to bring up so Morty is left dry-heaving over the toilet bowl. When he’s done, he’s left gasping for air. He slumps into a sitting position up against the door, facing the toilet.

The position feels uncomfortably familiar and Morty flashes back to when he was backing away from Mr. Jellybean’s bruised and beaten frame in the tavern bathroom. Morty’s heart is in his throat as he looks down at the hands that committed such an extreme act of violence and he dry-retches again, this time into the sink.

He can’t breathe.

He needs… needs… _needs…_

With trembling fingers, Morty thumbs through the contacts on his phone. He considers calling Rick but quickly decides against it.

Instead, Morty calls Mike.

 

* * *

 

Even though it’s short-notice, Mike is over the moon about the call and agrees to meet Morty immediately.

“Is the school okay?” Mike asks.

“The school?” _Fuck, it’s so hard to think._ “Yeah, y-yeah, sure, you don’t think we’ll get caught?”

“Nah, we be fine homie,” Mike reassures him.

“Oh-oh-k-kay, okay, good. C-cool, I mean.” Morty stammers. “S-See you there. Br-bring…”

“Don’t _worry_!” Mike laughs. “You know I know what to bring!”

Morty sighs. It’s okay. He’s alright.

He’s back In Control.

He leaves in a hurry, calling out a hasty, “going out, bye!” to his mother before he disappears out the front door. He bikes down to the school at a much faster pace than he would have otherwise anticipated.

(Panic does that to a person.)

By the time he arrives, he’s sweating and flushed. He hastily removes his shirt so he can cool down faster.

Mike is waiting for him by the front steps.

“You sure about this?” Mike asks.

“Y-Yeah,” Morty nods. “I’m –- I’m r-ready to get back into it. Y-You –- we –- are we waiting for anyone else?”

“No,” Mike smiles. “Just you and me tonight.”

“Oh.”

Mike pays him and Morty makes the usual show of counting the cash but the entire time, Morty’s trembling.

He can’t explain it. But even through the cloud of panic, something feels seriously off.

He blames it on the anxiety attack from earlier.

Mike takes him around to the back of the gym and jimmies open one of the windows with a crowbar.

Morty follows him but he doesn’t like this. Why does Mike have a crowbar in the first place? And why did he pick the gym? It was an odd choice…

“C’mon, Smith!” Mike grabs Morty’s arm and starts manhandling him towards the locker room.

Morty’s blood runs cold.

_No,_ _not in there._

Cubicles, sinks, hard floors, dripping taps, wet purple hands touching him where they shouldn’t…

 

> _‘Just let this happen.’_

Morty shakes his head and begins backing away.

“Why are we doing this in there?” Morty asks.

“Huh?” Mike turns to look at him incredulously. “I thought it was obvious: so we can clean up easily when we’re done.”

“Aw jeez…” Morty pales. “I -- I dunno about this, Mike.”

Mike glares at Morty.

“C’mon, Smith, I already paid you!”

“W-Well…” Morty points out. “Y-you can j-just have the money back, then.”

“Don’t be a p-p-p-p- _pussy_ , Smith!” Mike mimics Morty’s stammer meanly.

Morty doesn’t flinch. He’s heard worse from Rick.

“I’m leaving,” Morty states in as an assertive voice as he can manage, which unfortunately breaks at the end, making him sound smaller and younger than he is. He turns around to leave but feels Mike fist the back of his shirt and yank him backwards.

“Get back here!” he shouts.

Morty pulls away from him, struggling against the grip, but Mike is older and stronger and successfully drags him into the locker room and throws him onto the cold tiles of the shower.

“What… what the hell, Mike!” Morty scrambles to his feet. Mike punches him in the nose and Morty blinks before shoving him backwards. “I said, _no!_ ” he yells.

Mike stumbles backwards in surprise. But his startled expression morphs into one of hatred as he lurches forward.

“Shut the fuck up and take it you little bitch!” Mike takes another swing at Morty but this time Morty moves more quickly. After years of adventures, he’s more than prepared for a flailing unwieldy attack like Mike’s. Morty ducks beneath Mike’s arm and tackles him to the ground.

It’s a mistake.

Morty only managed to send Mike off balance because Mike still didn’t expect Morty to fight back. But now that they’re both on the floor of the shower room Mike easily twists himself around so he is on top of Morty’s smaller, weaker, frame.

Morty flies into a panic. He hits and punches and pushes everything around him and Mike seems to be _loving_ it. He punches Morty again, this time sending sparks in front of Morty’s eyes, and then wraps his fingers around Morty’s throat.

Mike smirks as Morty’s eyes widen in shock.

“You like this, you little _bitch?_ ” Mike spits the word into Morty’s face. “This get you hot?”

“Wuh?” Morty chokes.

Mike laughs and shoves a hand down Morty’s pants.

Morty yelps and tries to squirm away but Mike is insistent. He starts feeling around in the crotch of Morty’s jeans, groping and fondling. Then he removes his hand and awkwardly unzips Morty’s fly before quickly tugging at the waistband at Morty’s pants in attempt to pull them down. Morty struggles as best he can but he’s so weak, so tired, so empty. He hasn’t eaten in days, his head _hurts_ …

Then, as if the universe itself were giving Morty a massive middle-finger, Morty feels the familiar unique pain of a cramp in his leg and writhes in agony. Mike pounces on the opportunity and before Morty knows it, his pants have been yanked down and he’s lying naked on the cold tiles of the locker room.

Despite how obviously hopeless it is, Morty keeps struggling. Mike lazily grabs Morty’s tiny wrists and holds them above his head.

Morty weakly pulls against the grip but Mike goose-necks his wrist and he groans in pain. Mike transfers the hold to one hand shoves his other hand between Morty’s legs again, worming his way down further, edging closer to Morty’s asshole.

Morty flinches but can’t fight anymore. He’s too tired.

It’s going to happen.

He can’t fight it.

Morty shuts his eyes.

Suddenly Mike goes still, his muscles tighten and then go slack, and Morty is splattered with something hot and wet. When he opens his eyes, he sees Mike staring down at him, face white and eyes wide in confusion, like he’s trying to register what on earth just happened.

Morty feels the grip on his wrists slacken but he can’t quite bring himself to wriggle away until Mike goes limp and collapses on top of him.

With Mike no longer obstructing the view, Morty now sees a familiar shadow towering over them both.

“R- _Rick?”_ he whispers in disbelief.

Rick doesn’t speak.

His expression is stormy.

The very air in the room burns with his presence.

Drawn to his full-height and blocking out all light in the room, Rick’s muscles are pulled tighter than a bowstring, his eyes narrowed, his pupils tiny pin-pricks amidst storm-cloud grey, his face white with fury.

As Rick’s cruel gaze finally settles on Morty’s own stunned face, Morty can’t resist the urge to shrink back in terror.  Morty bites back a whimper and wonders, fearfully, if this is how a mouse might feel beneath the shadow of an especially ravenous owl. Rick’s eyes are cruel and predatory, pinning Morty beneath their ruthless gaze, the air so thick with his unbridled anger Morty can almost taste it.

And Morty is trapped.

His breathing shifts to something heavy and low. He can smell his own sweat, his own instinctive fear, helpless panic and terror stain the inside of Morty’s mouth like the coppery metallic taste of fresh blood.

_Run,_ Morty’s instincts demand.  _Get away. Run. Now._

But Morty can’t.

Rick breaks eye-contact for a half-second and brutally kicks Mike to the side. Morty hears the sickening thud of Mike’s skill landing heavily against the tiles next to Morty’s head. He chokes down a breath of air.

But when Rick’s gaze slides back and he advances upon Morty, Mike’s weight may as well still be on top of him with the way Morty’s chest constricts. A sensation which only nudges him back into panic-mode, winding him, paralyzing him. Rick’s power, his wrath, traces over Morty’s exposed body like hot and riddled with static. Ripples of it leave the hair on Morty’s exposed skin to stand on end, his body covered in goose-bumps. Morty gulps thickly and as he watches, resigned, as Rick raises a hand, he tries desperately to summon a scrap of courage.

He won’t scream. He isn’t going to give anyone the satisfaction. Not even Rick.

Rick stoops and Morty can’t even flinch.

But the blow doesn’t come. Rick is standing over Morty now, extending a hand towards him.

It takes a moment for the whirling mess of terrified thoughts in Morty’s mind to grind to a standstill and register what the hand was _for_ –- what that familiar gesture _meant --_ But once realization has slotted into place, Morty nervously reaches out and with trembling fingers accepts the hand offered to him.

What else can Morty possibly _do?_

Wordlessly, Rick helps Morty to his feet. Morty hastily scrambles to pull up his pants while turning back to look at Mike who –- now that Morty can see him properly –- has turned a ghastly shade of grey and is bleeding from the corner of his mouth, his eyes glassy, his body eerily still.

Morty pales at the sight.

A tiny seed of anger, watered with hysteria, unfurls within Morty and despite every survival instinct telling him not to, he rounds on his wrathful demon of a grandfather.

“H-h-holy shit! Rick! Y-you –- you just _murdered_ him!”

Rick is silent. Without even acknowledging Morty’s outburst, he fires the portal gun somewhere behind Morty’s head and tugs roughly on Morty’s hand in a silent order to follow him.

But Morty’s stupid isn’t he? That’s what Rick’s always telling him.

Stupid and stubborn.

Morty quickly wrenches his hand away and glares up at his deranged psychopath of a grandfather. He’s seen Rick kill dozens of people in the past, he’s helped him do it, even pulled the trigger…

But this is too much. He might have been an asshole but Morty _knew_ Mike. The blood is still warm on Morty’s skin.

Rick’s eyes darken, he shoots Morty an impatient scowl and seizes his arm, this time with a vice-like grip too strong and too merciless to be human. Morty lets out a hiss as metal fingertips dig painfully into his bicep.

_Yeah, that’s going to leave one hell of a bruise._ Morty thinks ruefully as he’s flung through the portal. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Live it down, baby don't talk that much,  
> Baby knows, but baby don't tease me  
> In the park we could go walking,  
> Drowned in the dark or we could go sailing  
> \-- The Killers - 'Tranquilize'

Broken glass crunches beneath Morty’s feet as he’s stumbles into the familiar penthouse suite. At least, Morty assumes it is the same one as before. The layout and view from the wall-length window remain the same, but this one is chaotic. The bar looks as though it has had a fair amount of use and the walls resemble a Jackson Pollock collection. Empty liquor bottles litter every surface and the once-pure-white fur of the polar bear rug is now splattered with multicoloured liquids.

But after drinking in the scene, Morty regains composure and his attention focuses squarely on Rick. After everything they’ve been through, everything they've seen, he still finds himself struck dumb by the unapologetic violence of his grandfather.

Why would he _kill_ Mike? He could understand incapacitating him but actually _killing_ him…?

A memory floats in from long ago… Summer in hysterics shouting that Frank Palicky had been mysteriously frozen to death. Morty had hastily stuffed the knowledge into the back, just like the rest of the Smith household, but he _knew_.

“What the _hell_ , Rick?” Morty finally yells. “What is…what is your _deal?_ ”

Rick patently ignores him and starts absently busying himself at the bar, humming under his breath while casually refilling his hip flask and bringing out various bottles and glasses...

That’s _it._

Morty snaps.

He seizes the nearest bottle and hurls it. The glass shatters, exploding against the wall in a splatter of purplish-brown liquid.

“Woah! Morty! This place is expensive!” Rick spins around and raises his hands, his expression vaguely amused.

Morty scowls and blinks back angry tears. The apartment is already trashed, and Rick knows it. More broken glass and stickiness won’t add much to the already lofty bill Rick’s inevitably facing.

He’s doing a bit and Morty has run out of patience.

“No! Y-y-you owe me an explanation!” Morty roars.

“I _owe_ you one?” Rick chortles, placing a hand on his hip and cocking his head to one side. “Morty, I’m fairly certain I just saved your life. If anyone owes anyone –- _braahhhp_ –- anything, you owe _me_. And y-y-you’re _welcome_ , by the way.”

“No way, Rick. You -- y-you don’t get to turn this around on me like that!” Morty shouts. “Come on, you didn’t –- you didn’t have to _kill_ Mike Dunford!”

“Didn’t I?” Rick retaliates, his voice tight with annoyance. “You don’t think I haven’t met a million-and-one _Mike Dunfords_ before? I know their type, Morty. I know what they’re into. They usually end up joining the armed forces in their twenties and have a _really great time_ at the barracks. They –- they –- th-they’re _predators_ , Morty. Predators. They’re the worst kind of sickos imaginable.”

“How would you know?” Morty snaps.

Rick goes quiet.

“And h-how’d you even know where I was, Rick?”

Rick shrugs and tosses something to Morty. It looks like an old chunky PDA device but with a smartphone screen. Morty turns it over in his hands.

“What…? Wh-what is this?” The device has a list of functions -- no, Morty realizes --  _measurements._ Weight, oxygen saturation, pulse, blood pressure, temperature, respiration rate…and that was just a start.

Morty’s blood chills.

His head swims.

With trembling fingers, Morty flips through the different measurements and eventually finds something that is, unmistakeably, a tracking device.

“You’ve --” Morty swallows drily and is embarrassed to find himself shaking. “You’ve been _spying_ on me?” Morty whispers in disbelief. He raises his hand to graze over a familiar raised bump on the back of his neck. Something which had unnerved him upon its first discovery, but Morty quickly dismissed it as persistent acne.

“Oh for –- wh-why’re you acting like that, Morty?” Rick rolls his eyes at Morty’s indignant, mortified expression. “It’s not like this is _new._ Y-y-you know I experiment on you sometimes, sin-since when is it a problem?”

“Since…” but Morty can’t speak.

The truth is, it has _always_ been a problem. Morty always found it humiliating and violating. But it was _Rick._ The man who did what he wanted, when he wanted, to any _thing_ he wanted. Morty had never bothered to protest because… why the fuck would he _bother?_

“Why, _Rick_?” Morty asks instead. His voice breaks on Rick’s name.

Instead of throwing some usual barb of wit or insight, Rick looks haunted by the question. He shudders and his eyes find the floor. Then, to Morty’s horror, his expression hardens as his gaze zeroes in on the front pocket of Morty’s jeans.

Morty doesn’t have time to get away before Rick has grabbed him. He struggles and shoves but it’s hopeless and his heart sinks with shame when Rick pulls out a fistful of cash from Morty’s pocket.

Morty’s heart is in his throat. His very insides have chilled to their core.

Rick’s eyes keep silently darting back and forth from Morty to the bills in his hand. His face is white. His eyes cold with contempt. Morty’s stomach churns around the nauseating lump that has amalgamated in his gut, draining his focus.

He has never felt so filthy in his life. He’s amazed his grandfather can even bring himself to touch him.

“What the…? What the _fuck_ , Morty?” Rick’s voice is a low growl.

Morty feels himself sway slightly. Rick grabs his shoulders and hauls him up against the wall behind the bar. Morty is suddenly acutely aware of his lack of shirt and looks away shamefully as fluttering bills cascade onto the ruined carpet. He’s too naked, too exposed, and having Rick look at him with such unbridled disgust floods him with every insecurity he has burdened for the past several months.

Good thing he’s too dehydrated to cry.

“Have you --” Rick swallows. His top lip curls in revulsion. “Have you been _taking it up the ass_ for money, Morty? Is -- is that what this is?”

“ _What?_ ” Morty’s eyes widen in horror.

Is that how Rick sees him?

Well… it may not be sex –- at least not until tonight -– but he still sold his body, didn’t he? Was that really so far removed from prostitution?

“No!” Morty shakes his head. He almost laughs though he isn’t sure why. Nothing about this moment is remotely amusing.

“Don’t _lie_ to me, Morty!” Rick shouts, his voice shaking. He looks more terrified than angry now and Morty isn’t sure what to do. It’s such an _un-Rick_ way to react.

Normally, Rick would just laugh at him, wouldn’t he? Or he wouldn’t care. He’d call Morty an idiot or tell him his clients should pay _him_ for having to put up with him. Why is Rick so scared? Why is this happening? What’s going on? Is this even the right Rick? Is this even the right _universe?_

Morty’s pulse is a dull throb which echoes around his skull. He’s flushed one moment, frozen the next, and bile claws its way up his throat. Faint at first, but growing progressively louder, comes a high-pitched ringing in his ears. The room throbs in and out of focus.

Oh great. He’s going to pass out.

“Morty!” Rick grips Morty’s shoulders and firmly sets him upright against the wall again. “You _idiot!_ There’s glass on the floor!”

Morty blinks slowly up at his grandfather who seems very, very far away. The room is too dim. His head is too big and too heavy. Darkness rolls up to drag him down. He tries to focus but… he’s… so… _empty._

“Morty…” Rick’s voice has softened to a murmur. Morty doesn’t like it. Having Rick sound so uncharacteristically concerned is cause for alarm. “Come on, buddy. Snap out of it.”

“I’m n-not…” Morty mumbles, his voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere else, “not whoring m’self out...”

To Morty’s surprise, Rick nods. “Okay.”

The hands on his shoulders stroke down to his biceps and start squeezing earnestly. Through his haze, Morty frowns at the oddly affectionate gesture.

“J-just breathe, Morty, nice and slow…” Rick instructs. Morty inhales deeply and realizes he’s been hyperventilating until now. The room gradually slides back into focus and his feet take their rightful place on solid ground again. “That’s it.” Rick praises. Morty blinks. He straightens up and Rick tentatively lets go of him.

Morty leans back against the wall and sighs long and deep. Rick stays where he is, no longer touching him but still observing him critically.

“You back with me?” he asks.

Morty nods meekly.

Rick takes a step back to give Morty some space and Morty hastily peels himself from the wall only for the floor to come rushing up to meet him. Nausea follows suit and his vision blurs.

Rick’s hand is on Morty’s chest, one arm slung around his shoulders. “Easy…”

“I’m d- _dizzy_ ,” Morty mutters.

“Duh.”

Rick hooks one arm beneath Morty’s legs and lifts him into his arms like he weighs nothing at all. Morty’s heart stops. Rick’s carried him like this before –- when he dropped him off at the hospital and then disappeared for ages. Morty clings to the lapels of Rick’s lab coat and tries not to panic.

_Don’t leave again. Don’t leave again. Please don’t leave again._

Rick carries Morty into the bedroom and sits down at the foot of the bed.

“I never will, baby,” Rick murmurs and Morty realizes, with some embarrassment, that he must have been thinking out load.

Morty leans against Rick’s chest while Rick holds him close, his chin resting on the top of Morty’s head while he runs his hand soothingly up and down Morty’s arm.

This is okay. This is nice.

Morty could fall asleep like this. Rick’s heartbeat in his ear, his arms protectively around him. Rick begins absently drawing little circles on Morty’s back in a manner just a little too titillating to be platonic. Morty’s breath catches. He doesn’t dislike the sensation at all and hopes Rick continues. He holds still so as not to put him off, but he can’t help the contented sigh that escapes him.

Ricks fingers slowly travel up Morty’s spine to the nape of Morty’s neck, gently toying with the finer wisps of his hair. He presses his nose against Morty’s temple and Morty’s chest swells.

“Morty,” Rick whispers.

“…Mm?”

“When was the last time you had something to eat or drink?”

Morty tenses.

“Yeah.” Rick says coolly. “That’s… that’s what I thought.”

He eases Morty off his lap and Morty goes without protest. Rick gets up and leaves the room leaving Morty sitting numbly on the foot of the bed, chewing nervously on his chapped bottom lip.

Morty’s self-conscious and wishes desperately that he hadn’t left his shirt on the handlebars of his bike. He’s too cold like this…

Rick returns a moment later. He’s smiling with vague amusement. Morty raises an eyebrow at him.

“Heh. You won’t believe the one non-alcoholic thing I have in the place,” he explains and holds up a kiddy box of apple juice. “It’s this or I order you a water at the bar downstairs and I think they have a no-shirt-no-shoes policy or some rubbish.”

“I don’t mind alcohol,” Morty says without thinking. His eyes widen in horror at his stupid mouth, but Rick looks indifferent.

“Yeah, I know,” Rick sits next to him. “Found your stash a couple of nights ago.” He stabs the little straw into the top of the juice box. “Guess you… y-you think you’re all grown-up now, huh?”

Morty glares. “ _You_ stole them!”

“Uh, that wasn’t obvious, numb-nuts?”

“Why?”

Rick’s eyes travel up and down Morty’s too-thin frame before giving Morty a very exasperated, cold look.

Yeah, okay, Morty doesn’t need to dig any deeper than that.

“You didn’t have any right to do that,” Morty mutters anyway.

“And I suppose I also didn’t have any right to spy on you.” Rick pats his knee and Morty pauses, confused, but then it clicks. Rick doesn’t trust Morty to finish it.

Morty hesitates and Rick tuts at him impatiently.

Tentatively, and with a steadily increasing blush of his cheeks, Morty clambers back onto Ricks lap. Rick puts an arm around him so Morty’s cradled against his chest and holds the juice box in front of his face. Morty feels more than a little ridiculous being –- for lack of a better term –- _fed_ like this. But since Rick won’t just _hand_ him the box, he puts his mouth on the straw and drinks.

“… _And_ ,” Rick continues, “if I didn’t have any right to do those things, I also had no right to rescue you.”

Morty’s not sure if Rick actually has a point or if he’s simply using his silver tongue to justify his psychopathic behaviour as usual, but right now, Morty doesn't care.

After having nothing to eat or drink in so long, Morty can’t think for the taste of the juice. Morty had no idea how parched his throat was until now and it stings as the cold liquid hits it, but he can’t bring himself to slow down. He sucks down the whole box and is disappointed to find it suddenly empty.

Rick rolls his eyes.

“You fucking idiot,” he says and hands Morty another from his coat pocket. This time he lets Morty hold it and Morty rips the thing open. He completely ignores the straw and drinks the whole thing down in only a couple of gulps. Morty’s panting now. He needs more.

Oh _god,_ Morty had no idea he was so painfully thirsty until this moment.

“Easy, baby, calm down,” Rick whispers. And the words are so tender, so unlike Rick that it makes something deep inside Morty _ache._ He lets out a whimper of need before hastily clapping a hand over his mouth in embarrassment. “I’ll head down to the lobby and see if we can’t get you a bottled water, hey?”

“No don’t!” Morty says desperately. “Pl-please, Rick. Don’t go.”

“Okay, Morty," Rick rolls his eyes, "I have another idea." He starts nudging Morty off his lap and Morty obediently wriggles off him.

When Rick returns this time, he’s holding a small bucket of ice cubes from the dry bar freezer. “Here,” he says, dumping the bucket on the floor next to Morty. “You can suck on these.” He smirks for a moment. “The sex joke there is way too obvious, I hope you know it’s… i-it’s beneath me to actually say it.”

Morty smiles up at Rick but there’s something slightly off about Rick’s smirk. His smile too broad, his eyes too bright. It looks… fake. Forced. Morty frowns with concern.

“H-hey, Rick?” he says quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Are you -- are _you_ okay?”

Rick looks taken aback for a half-moment before he laughs. “Psh! Yeah, _obviously_. A-After I leave you lot each day I get an evening _here_ doing anything – and any _one_ – I fucking want, _baby!"_  Rick laughs."I don't give a fuuuck!”

Morty nods sadly. “I… um… Mom misses you.”

 _Stupid!_ Morty scolds himself. _Stop being a pussy and just say it!_

“ _I…_ m-miss you,” Morty says quietly.

Rick sits back down next to him. He sighs through his nostrils and his shoulders slump forward, his jovial mood unexpectedly subdued. Morty wonders if he’s ticked him off and tries to think for a second if he can take it back or sweep it under the rug but then Rick looks at him carefully.

“You should start sucking on that ice,” Rick reminds him.

Morty nods but doesn’t touch it yet. There’s still so much he wants to talk to Rick about. Like what has he been doing all this time? Why doesn’t he ever sleep at the house anymore? Why does he regret kissing him? Why didn’t he come to visit him in hospital? What’s with the _goddamn_ tracking device?

But before Morty can settle on his first question Rick makes a frustrated noise and grabs Morty’s shoulder, turning him to face him.

“ _Fine_ ,” Rick rolls his eyes, “I’ll do it for you then.”

Rick takes one of the ice cubes and in one smooth movement, repositions his hand to pistol-grip Morty’s chin and gently push the ice cube against his lips. Morty’s mouth is clearly only connected to his id because his tongue darts out without permission and begins frantically lapping up the cold liquid. Morty moans desperately and wraps his fingers around Rick’s wrist, trying to force the ice further into his mouth.

“Slow down!” Rick scolds him. “You’ll give yourself brain freeze.”

Morty ignores him and keeps going. Rick holds the ice in such a way that he can’t wrap his lips around it but can still lick it. It’s frustrating as hell and Morty can’t help the embarrassing sighs and whimpers that escape him.

When the ice cube is gone, Morty sighs and licks his wet lips. Rick begins to move away but Morty claps a hand around his wrist and before Rick can say anything in protest, Morty’s desperately licking the moisture from Rick’s fingers.

It’s ridiculous as anything, unplanned, not to mention completely undignified, but Morty’s brain is just not _there_ right now and all he wants is to be as hydrated as humanly possible.

“M- _Morty_ …” Rick breathes. His voice a strained murmur.

Morty has a vague feeling he should probably stop.

“Morty…”

It takes all the willpower he has but Morty removes Rick’s long digit from his mouth with a wet-sounding _pop_ and lets out a contented sigh. Licking his lips, Morty turns a sheepish look upon Rick.

“S-Sorry,” he blushes.

Rick is silent. Morty’s heart skips a beat as Rick’s gaze fixes on Morty’s cold and swollen lips. Rick reaches out and traces his fingers over Morty’s mouth and Morty’s lips part at the touch.

Rick leans in. Morty’s heart stops completely.

The world is sparked with colour as Rick’s lips press against Morty’s and Morty sighs with satisfaction. Rick places a hand on Morty’s leg, just a tiny bit too high and Morty’s hands land on Rick’s hips and he drags the man forward, encouraging him. Rick understands the cue and edges closer to Morty. The hand on Morty’s thigh slides slowly higher, he feels tingles of warm pleasure creep into his lower abdomen…

Then Rick breaks the kiss with an abruptness that leaves Morty winded.

“S-sorry,” Rick says quickly. “I… I w-wasn’t planning on doing that. I just –- fuck, Morty, the _noises_ you were making...”

Morty smiles shyly. “I… I didn’t mind.”

Tentatively, Morty places a daring hand on his grandfather’s knee. Rick recoils and Morty withdraws his hand immediately, quickly turning away to hide the hurt on his face.

Suddenly, Rick’s hands are on Morty’s shoulders and he’s turning Morty to face him. Morty frowns slightly as Rick places a knuckle beneath his chin and tilts his head up to look at him.

“Morty,” Rick’s voice is harsh and flat. “I’d be lying if I didn’t say I wanted this. Maybe I...” Rick falters, shaking his head and quickly dropping his gaze. “But this is… there’s a _word_ for this, Morty, and…”

“W-why does it matter?” Morty asks.

“Why does…? Uh -- are you fucking serious?”

“Yeah!” Morty replies simply. “Because y-y-you break the r-rules all the time, Rick. Why… why is this any different?”

“Don’t look for deeper me- _EEEH_ -nings, Morty. It just is.”

Rick straightens up.

“Nuh-uh! I’m n-not accepting that!” Morty protests. “A-a-and I know… I know it’s not the age gap because you’ve fucked entire hive minds and I… I strongly doubt, y’know, _every_ person on that planet was over the age of eighteen! S-s-so what gives…?”

“Y-You’re such an idiot, Morty,” Rick runs a hand through his hair and turns away as though about to leave. “ _Man,_ I am craving a bourbon and some triple sec after kissing you.” He grins. “Gonna t-turn you into an Apple Sour, Morty…”

“You’re dodging the question!” Morty jumps to his feet. “Y-y-you just don’t w-wanna tell me ‘cause… ‘cause… because you’re a _coward!_ ”

Direct hit.

Rick whirls around, eyes blazing, his face white with anger.

“You… y-you don’t know what the _fuck_ you’re talking about, Morty!” he snarls.

“Yeah, I do!” Morty scowls, more ticked-off than courageous. 

“No, you don’t, Morty, ‘cause you’re as stupid as I am smart and that’s why, when I tell you -–”

“ –- when you tell me to shut up, it’s really good advice?” Morty interrupts. “Yeah, Rick, I kn-know the drill. And guess what? I’m also too _stupid_ to give in!”

“Oh for -–” Rick smacks his hand against his forehead. “Y-you still don’t get it do you? Th-this isn’t special or meaningful. This is happening in an infinite -–”

“ _Good!_ ” Morty interrupts.

Rick blinks. Morty chooses to take that as a win.

“So you can do what you want then can’t you?" Morty points out. "Wh-wh-what’s the… what’s the big deal?”

“What's the big -- ?" Rick’s lip curls. "Why do you have to be so… such a _Morty?!_ ”

“Because that’s who I _am_ , Rick!”

Rick’s gone quiet. His face is blank. They’ve finally reached an impasse. Rick won’t tell him, and Morty won’t let the matter drop.

He can’t.

“You know what?” Morty straightens up to his full height. “You can run all you like, Rick. Y-you can open a portal and chuck me through it. Abandon me in my own dimension, or even here in this hotel. Leave and –- and -- a-and g-go find yourself a new Morty who w-won’t piss you off or ask difficult questions. Go ahead.” Morty’s eyes narrow. “Because _you_ kissed _me_ , Rick. Twice. A-And I’m not letting that go. You want me to shut up? Fine. Y-you have all the power in the universe to make that happen.”

It’s a gamble. And a nasty one at that.

But months ago, Rick looked into Morty’s eyes and told him he couldn’t be replaced.

“Or you can tell me, wh-why is this such a deal breaker for you?” Morty asks again. “Why can’t we –-”

“Because I don’t want to ruin your goddamn life, Morty!” Rick bursts, exasperated. “I don’t…” His voice quiets and he mumbles something under his breath. Morty may have been otherwise curious about what it was but right now he’s too hot-headed and flushed with adrenaline to care.

 _“Seriously?”_ Morty snorts with unamused laughter. After everything Rick’s done to him… _“That’s_ what’s bothering you?”

“Morty, you know how I am, and y-y-you know what I do!” Rick retaliates. “And I can’t… I _can’t change_. If we were to –- if this –-” Rick makes a vague, violent gesture at the space between them, “ –- were to actually happen, you’d just become another _thing_ I use.”

“A-A-And I’m not already?” Morty laughs incredulously. “You put a tracking chip in my neck! You fucked with my brain! My anatomy! You experiment on me, jab me with needles, you drag me into danger just to be -- to be your human shield! And I’m pretty sure at one point y-y-you even stole some of my blood! Y-You use me all the fucking time, Rick!”

“I know.”

Everything grinds to a halt and Morty blinks in shock.

Does Rick actually look… _ashamed?_

Morty shakes his head in disbelief. “Mother _fucker._ You -- you’ve violated me dozens of times but the _one_ time I’d consent… the _one_ time I…”

But Rick has suddenly seized Morty’s shoulders, digging his fingers desperately and painfully into Morty’s shoulder blades. His face is inches from Morty’s. He looks so angry, so hopeless and enraged and filled with despair.

 _Pain_.

Morty’s seen it in the mirror enough times.

_Agonizing pain._

“Morty you --” Rick stammers, he sounds out of breath, “you fucking _idiot,_ Morty.”

He steers Morty backwards so Morty’s forced to sit back down again, but Rick doesn’t stop crowding him, forcing Morty to lie back on the bed. He presses his nose and forehead to Morty’s.

“I…” Rick begins. But whatever Rick planned to say, he quickly chokes it back down, instead squeezing his eyes shut and nuzzling gently against Morty’s nose, huffing quietly, his face ashen with torment.

“H-hey…” Morty tries. “I-It’s okay, Ri–-”

But Rick is suddenly kissing him again.

This kiss is different, desperate with need. Finesse and skill abandoned as Rick mouths frantically at Morty’s lips while Morty lies pinned, still reeling from the shock of having Rick suddenly crumble beneath the weight of his own emotions. Rick cups Morty’s jaw and angles his face up into the kiss. He’s all around Morty now. He’s all there is, and all there needs to be. He steals every breath and gives nothing back.

And Morty loves every second.

Finally, Rick breaks the kiss in order to prop himself up on his forearm. He gently caresses Morty’s cheek and looks down at him like he can't quite believe Morty is real, his face is still pained but he seems more coherent now, less hopeless. “I… I…” Rick’s babbling. His voice barely above a whisper. “I tried... I fucking _tried…_ t-to think of you as just -– _oh fuck –_ \- I can’t turn this off! I can’t make it stop!”

“Is…is that why –-”

“Whatever you’re going to ask, Morty, the answer is yeah. Pr-probably.” Rick replies tersely.

“I-Is that why you implanted me with a subdermal tracking chip?” Morty asks anyway.

Rick gives a solemn nod.

It’s a pretty fucked up thing to do. But then again, it's Rick.

Rick leans in to nuzzle softly against Morty’s jaw and Morty locks his arms around his grandfather’s neck. He feels gentle kisses down the pulse of his throat and along his collarbone and bites back a small whimper of pleasure. Rick’s affectionately playing with the little curls atop Morty’s hair and Morty feels his grandfather’s other hand slowly trail down his flank, gently feeling and caressing his small body.

Morty just wishes he had something better to offer him.

He’s thought himself so unlovable for so long. Not just worthless but a mistake: An unfortunate side-effect of his parents’ misery and the universe’s mockery. Something that ought to have been scrubbed out a long time ago. And here was Rick, an unchecked _god_ , touching him and holding him like Morty is something precious, something to be treasured, something of _worth_. And when Rick lifts his head from Morty’s neck Morty can’t breathe because Rick is _looking_ at him.

“Are you alright?” Rick checks.

Morty swallows thickly and nods.

Rick’s expression is stern, his grey eyes narrow. “How’s your chest?”

“F-fine,” Morty whispers and he’s surprised by Rick suddenly feeling over his barely-there pecs, his brow knitted in concern. “No really, I’m fi–-”

Unconvinced, Rick presses a finger to Morty’s lips, shushing him. Without breaking eye contact, Rick murmurs:

“You are going to be _honest_ with me from now on, Morty.”

There’s no stutter. Rick’s eyes are the colour of the darkest storm clouds. His voice is a rumble of distant thunder.

Morty nerves won’t permit him to do anything but nod.

“Good boy,” Rick’s expression doesn’t change. He brushes his fingertips over Morty’s left eyebrow, around his temple, and then down to his cheek. It’s such an intimate, tender touch but Rick’s eyes remain cold and analytical, like he's planning something vicious. The clash is unnerving and Morty fidgets.

“How did you get the black-eye?”

Morty frowns with surprise.

Rick’s going to bring _that_ up again? For what purpose? How could that profit him? Does he want to subject Morty to some kind of psychological torture? Is that what turns Rick on? Emotional sadism.

“A -- a guy at school –-” Morty begins but Rick shakes his head and tuts quietly under his breath.

“Before you answer,” Rick warns, “I _will_ know if you’re lying.” Rick’s hand leaves Morty’s cheek and he pulls out the tracking device from his breast pocket. Morty doesn’t bother asking how Rick managed to squirrel it away while they moved from the bar into the bedroom. He recalls the various functions he scrolled through earlier… his pulse, his temperature, how much he sweats…

Yeah, Rick’s going to know.

And Morty gets it now. This isn’t a punishment. It’s a cross-examination. And he’s pinned –- literally _trapped_ -– beneath his grandfather and too weak from hunger and exhaustion to have any hope of escape. No matter what, Rick’s going to know everything.

Morty swallows.

 _(But he can’t know… he can’t know_ that. _)_

“A guy at school beat me up,” Morty answers.

Rick’s eyes narrow. “Why?”

“Be-because,” Morty’s eyes dart nervously to the screen. “Because h-he paid me to let him.”

Rick baulks. “Is…is that…? Morty, is _that_  what that money in your pocket was?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Morty… y-you stupid son-of-a-bitch!”

“Hey that’s your daughter you’re talking about,” Morty points out placidly.

Just because he’s being cross-examined, doesn’t mean he can’t get some good licks in.

“Oh, don’t get cute!” Rick snarls. “How long has this been going on?”

“Two years, I… I think? Maybe?” Morty explains. “I can’t remember when I started the business.”

“Morty, y-you realize this nearly _killed_ you!”

“Huh?”

“Morty,” Rick says, exasperated, “those guys fractured your rib. And when I -- when I last had you here at this hotel, I caused the fracture to puncture your lung. Y-y-you almost _died_ , Morty!”

“Oh.”

Morty had been informed already of course. But it is like a dream. It feels like so long ago. Did Rick really cause the punctured lung? Morty could have sworn it was from the fall… the events from the past year feel like they’ve been stirred together, and he can no longer tell them apart.

Rick looks horrified. Morty just looks up at him placidly and awaits the next question, even though he’s sure the tracking device will give him away, Morty still masks his nerves with a blank face. Rick's disgusted with him and it hurts, making a charade of dignity a necessary comfort.

“Was the guy I killed o-one of your -- your --  _‘customers’_  ?" Rick air-quotes.

“Yeah, he was.”

Rick’s lip curls.

“Good.”

Morty fidgets uncomfortably and Rick repositions himself so Morty’s held down more easily. The tracking device lies on the mattress next to Morty’s head.

“Had any of them tried doing _that_ to you before tonight?” Rick asks next.

Morty doesn’t like the murderous look in Rick’s eyes. He looks away quickly. He doesn’t want to think about it…

“No,” Morty answers. It’s the truth. He suspects Rick’s going to move on but before he does, Morty needs to know… “If I’d answered yes, w-would you have killed them?”

“No,” Rick says flatly. “I’m going to kill them anyway.”

Morty feels ill. He squirms in Rick’s arms. “Please… Rick…”

But Rick easily pins Morty’s arms to his sides, forcing him still.

“We’re not done yet, Morty.”

“Please don’t kill them!”

“ _No one_ gets to touch you, Morty.” Rick’s voice is a low growl. “ _Never again._ ”

“The…the business is over, Rick! I’ve ended it! Tonight was going to be the last time!”

“Not good enough.”

“Why not?”

“Not much of a deterrent,” Rick shrugs like it’s the most ordinary thing in the world.

Morty stares up at him in disbelief.

“I hate it when you kill people,” he says quietly.

For a fraction of a second Rick actually looks hurt.

“Next question,” Rick hastily moves on. Morty braces himself. “You’ve been wetting yourself, haven’t you, Morty?”

Well _that_ wasn’t what Morty expected…

“Wh-what?” Morty cranes his neck to look at the tracking device. “Th-that thing can show you when I… when I use the _bathroom_?”

“If you’re asking whether it shows urinary frequency then, _yes_ , Morty. It shows me when you use the bathroom. N-not that you’ve, technically, _been_ ‘using the bathroom.’”

“That’s… w-what the _fuck_ Rick!” Morty cries, horrified. “That’s fucking _sick!_ ”

“Oh? Who –- who are you to call anyone sick, Morty?” Rick shoots back. “Y-y- _you’re_ sexually attracted to your own grandfather! I mean, seriously! A-a-and I’m taking that as a ‘ _yes’_ by the way!”

“Fine.” Morty rolls his eyes. “Just –- heh –- did… didn’t know you had a thing for watersports, Rick.” Morty smirks.

“Watch it.” Rick hisses. But he looks more amused than angry and deep inside where Rick can’t see, Morty is swelling with glee.

“So why are you wetting yourself?” Rick asks. Morty’s smirk vanishes. “I –- I mean you’re… how old now?”

“Seventeen.”

“Wait. _What?_ ” Rick grabs the tracking device and Morty snorts with laughter.

“Oh, I get it,” Morty chuckles, smug. “You’ll eagerly watch me pee, but you’ll completely forget about my age.”

“When the fuck did you turn seventeen?”

“Aw jeez, Rick –- I dunno –- a-about a year after I turned sixteen?”

Rick glares at him.

“Look, you were back with us for about two years and then we stopped time and you, me, and Summer spent another year just hanging out remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Rick looks thoughtful.

“A-and then two years after _that_ …”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

“So... so I -- I get it, man,” Morty smirks. “It can be _kinda tricky_ to keep track --”

“I said I get it, Morty!”

Morty raises an eyebrow cheekily. “H-How old did you think I was?”

“That’s not important!”

“Th-this interrogation session isn’t going the way you planned is it, Rick?”

Rick’s eyes narrow. “Wh-why’re you wetting yourself Morty?”

Morty’s throat dries and his smile fades. He doesn’t want to answer. Rick repeats the question and finally Morty licks his chapped lips and tells Rick everything that happened with Mr. Jellybean and the problems that occurred afterwards. How every time he entered a public bathroom, he felt like the walls were closing in. The nightmares that occurred, which left him in a cold sweat and, upon waking, did not end. How many times he swore he could see Mr. Jellybean looming over him in bed while he lay paralyzed and helpless.

“I feel like…” Morty explains in a small voice, “l-like when you touch something reh-really greasy, y-y’know? And you keep try -– trying to wash off the greasy feeling from your hands but even when it’s gone, you can still remember it and you swear you can still _feel_ it, e-even when it’s obviously gone.” Morty looks away. “I feel disgusted with myself. I keep thinking… may-maybe I deserved it.”

“You didn’t.” Rick states with reassuring certainty.

“So…so I couldn’t stand it anymore and I just… peed wherever I was. So I wouldn’t have to use a cubicle. It was humiliating b-but… but what else could I do? Mom took me to see that therapist but -- I dunno -- I guess I just don’t get how using _‘I Statements’_ is going to save me from being… raped.”

Morty’s never said the word out loud before. Hell, he hadn’t even allowed the word into to the forefront of his mind until now. And now that it’s out loud and raw and _there_ , Morty isn’t sure if he feels better or worse.

He’s not sure if he could have ever uttered it at all without Rick’s strong presence all around him, grounding him and protecting him.

Rick looks down at him. His face unreadable. “I’m…” his voice is strained. “I’m s-sorry, Morty.”

Wow. Rick is actually _apologizing?_ What universe is this hotel in?

Morty shakes his head. “It wasn’t your fault, Rick.”

“I should have protected you better, Morty,” Rick tenderly strokes Morty’s cheek. He’s staring down at Morty’s face with a look that Morty can’t recognize. He isn’t smiling, but there’s something warm and bright in his slightly-narrowed eyes which sends pleasant tingles all over Morty’s skin.

“Next question,” Rick continues hastily. “Morty, are you still cutting yourself?”

 _No._ _Not that question._

If Rick’s asking _that_ then it’ll be followed with a why, and Morty can’t tell Rick the truth.

Morty shakes his head. Rick doesn’t even look at the tracking device.

“I told you, Morty,” his voice is dangerously low. “I know you’re lying.”

“Rick…I just… c-can we not?”

“Morty.” Rick’s expression has darkened, and his tone is ice. Morty squirms. He needs to get away. Needs to get away from Rick so he can think and figure out a way to avoid the truth without outright lying. Needs to… needs to…

The truth is in him somewhere. Hidden, dormant, and successfully contained in the darkness.

But Rick is looking into his soul and rendering Morty powerless, he’s shining a light into the shadows and extracting secrets without delving into science or inventions. There’s no trickery here, no technology, no drugs. Rick is simply _asking_.

And Morty’s just pathetic enough for that to be his kryptonite.

It’s not fair that Rick’s so handsome despite – or maybe even because of – his many years. It’s not fair that Rick knows just what buttons to push and just how desperately Morty wants...

_Oh god._

Morty can’t deny it: a part of himself, and he isn’t sure how prominent that part is, _wants_ Rick to see.

See and understand and _accept_.

“You’re starving yourself, cutting yourself. Tell me. Why?”

Morty shakes his head again and prays for a miracle. His heart is in his throat and tears prickle at his eyes. If Rick asks just one more time Morty will cave. He knows it. Rick knows it…

Morty thrashes against Rick’s unrelenting hold. He tries kicking but Rick puts a stop to that by hooking his own legs over Morty’s. But being held down has driven Morty into a crazed panic and he can’t fucking _think._

 _“Stop!”_ Morty begs. _“Please!”_

“Tell me why and I will.”

Morty shakes his head.

“I c-can… h-handle…it.”

Without warning, Rick rears up and brutally backhands him, conjuring red and white sparks in the forefront of Morty's vision and a vicious sting across Morty's face. 

It's what finally sends Morty over the edge.

It’s too much. The world around him spins and morphs into something resembling a kaleidoscope.

“L-Let me up, Rick!” Morty gasps. “Let me…I’m gonna…”

Morty’s chest heaves and Rick leaps to his feet.

Morty rolls off the bed and flops onto his hands and knees on the floor. Rick stands back as Morty dry-heaves painfully and then vomits up the apple juice and water he was fed.

Back to square one.

“Oh _shit_ …” Rick swears under his breath before he quickly runs out of the room.

When Morty is eventually done puking his guts out he sits up on his knees and gently rests his weary head against the foot of the bed, closing his tired eyes as the room spins around him. He swallows, throat burning in protest, while his stomach constricts around a cramped knot in his gut. His saliva glands pump weakly in a threat to vomit again but there’s just nothing left inside Morty to bring up. Morty groans, gagging on the putrid taste in his mouth while his head reels. Something fuzzy and murky overtakes his vision and it’s just too easy to give into the shadows, letting them pull him down…down…

Rick drops to his knees in front of him. “Morty!” he snaps his fingers in Morty’s face. “C’mon, stay with me bro!”

Morty grunts and slowly opens his eyes. He croaks out an  _“-ick?”_ but he’s otherwise unintelligible.

“Shh… don’t try to talk,” Rick whispers. “J-Just stay with me, Morty. Stay with me.”

Morty struggles to keep his eyes open. He’s too weak to move. Rick’s arms are around him and he finds himself resting against Rick’s chest, the rim of a glass presses against his lips.

Morty gulps down the water. It tastes odd –- probably from the bathroom –- and it both soothes and irritates his parched throat. But Morty is grateful anyway. He relaxes, and when the water is taken away from him he lets out an undignified sob of disappointment.

“Don’t worry,” Rick assures him, “you’ll get more very soon. I’m gonna –- w-we’ll do this gently, okay?”

Rick’s hands drop down to Morty’s fly and through the daze Morty feels himself being unzipped.

Morty immediately tenses.

_Oh no. No! Not that._

Morty wants to start twisting and writhing away. Try and avoid being touched, being _seen_. But he’s too weak, he’s too empty, and everything’s so confusing and far away and colossal waves are crashing over him, drowning him, roaring as they pull him deep down into the void…

“Shh… shh... it’s alright, Morty. It’s just me, It’s just Grandpa.”

 _“Stop!”_ Morty begs.

“Don’t fight me, Morty,” Rick orders. He’s lowering Morty’s jeans now and Morty feels like his heart is going to explode. His head swims. His ears are ringing. He can't tread water forever, he's going under... he's going to drown... he's going...

Then Rick hooks his fingers under the waistband of Morty’s boxers and Morty flies into an even bigger panic than before. Through the haze he fumbles about desperately, finds Rick’s wrist, and tries to pry his hand away. But Rick is strong and Morty is weak and Rick gently and effortlessly pins Morty’s hand to his side.

Morty shakes his head _no_ but Rick is insistent and Morty finally bursts into embarrassing childlike tears when his boxers are lowered down to his ankles and he’s finally stripped. He hastily pushes his knees together and desperately tries to hide his nakedness with his hands.

“Don’t… don’t _look!_ ”

“It’s a-alright, Morty,” Rick’s face is directly front of Morty’s. “I’m not going to look.”

Morty blinks with dazed confusion.

“Th-then…wh-why…?”

“I’m going to get you cleaned up,” Rick explains. “Y-y-you’re covered in sick, Morty. It’s disg- _uugghh-_ sting.”

Morty flushes with shame but Rick is clearly not _that_ disgusted because he promptly lifts Morty into his arms and carries him into the bathroom. Morty lets out a yelp when the bathwater hits his bare skin and Rick lifts him again immediately.

“Too hot?” he asks.

Morty shakes his head. “I’m f-fine. Just sur-surprised.”

Rick nods and lowers Morty into the tub. The warm water is remarkably soothing and at the same time, wakes him up just that little bit. Morty lies back and with a shuddering sigh lets himself relax, blinking slowly and sleepily. Rick is kneeling on the floor next to the tub. He’s looking at Morty's face with a sad sort of half-smile, an expression which Morty has never seen before. 

Morty smiles at Rick dreamily and Rick looks away quickly. His smile hastily replaced with an emotionless frown.

“Y-you want some more water to drink?” Rick asks in a bored tone.

Morty nods lazily and Rick departs to fetch him another glass which he fills up at the bathroom sink.

Morty downs it in two gulps and Rick hands him another.

As Rick watches Morty drink, that funny little half-smile sneaks its way onto his face again, though Morty can only catch it out of the corner of his eye. Every time he tries to focus on Rick, Rick either adopts a stoically blank stare or he quickly busies himself with a towel or refilling Morty’s cup. 

“I said you are going to be honest with me from now on,” Rick says quietly as he kneels back down with the thrice-refolded towel.

Morty’s gut clenches. _No_ , he thinks miserably. _Not more questions._

But before he can mentally prepare himself for the harrowing onslaught to come, Rick asks nervously: “A-Are... are you okay sleeping in the same bed with me tonight?”

Morty lets out a parched laugh and for just a fraction of a second, an expression of hurt flashes across Rick's face. 

“Of course!” Morty smiles.

Rick clears his throat and looks very intently up at the ceiling. “Ahem… e-even though y-your clothes are… th-they’re kind of ruined, Morty.”

“Oh.”

They would be, wouldn’t they? Covered in blood and vomit…

“If you wa- _UHH_ -ant, I can –- I can sleep on the couch?” Rick offers. “I-I-If that’s more comfortable for you.”

Morty blushes and looks shyly at the bathroom tiles.

“It’s a big bed, Rick,” he says in a very little voice. “I’m sh-sure there’ll be plenty of room.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know what you want so desperately  
> You know I'll give you one for free  
> Forever you're coming back to me  
> Now I'm gonna give you what you need"
> 
> \-- Three Days Grace - 'Painkiller'
> 
>  
> 
> ...

Rick ought to be making some witty, slightly barbed remark. But instead, of all things, Rick looks away awkwardly and smiles shyly at his knees. When Morty blinks through his blurred vision he sees Rick’s cheeks are tinged with pink.

It’s such a meek, anti- _Rick_ look that Morty wonders if he’s even really looking at his grandfather. He smiles to himself, if it weren’t for such a dramatic evening, he may even feel somewhat proud that he could have such a profound effect on the man.

Refreshed from the bath and after several glasses of water, Morty is ready to get out of the tub. Rick wordlessly hands him a towel and is kind enough to avert his eyes while Morty dries off.

When Morty re-enters the bedroom, one hand gripping the towel wrapped tightly around his waist, with his mind finally washed clear he is finally able to take in the scene before him:

The bedroom is as much a bombsight as the rest of the suite. Fluids coating walls, carpet stained with various substances that Morty doesn’t want to think about, and the expensively soft bed sheets are tangled, soiled, and –- in some places -- ripped.

Somebody got fucked in that bed. Violently.

Morty hesitates.

A warm calloused hand lands on his shoulder and Morty jumps.

“You okay?” Rick’s voice is gruff, more irritated than concerned.

Morty swallows. Uncertain as to how to explain what the problem is without insulting Rick or babbling like an idiot. He sold his body after all, didn’t he? Does he really have the right to protest sleeping in the same bed as Rick’s other whores?

Rick coughs.

“Th-the couch is still an option,” Rick suggests.

Morty shakes his head sadly. Rick could never understand his superficial feelings. And even if he could, Rick would never tolerate them.

Sucking it up as best he can, Morty lifts the side of the wrinkled top sheet only for Rick to snatch it away from him.

“W-wait a sec, Morty,” Rick rips the top sheet from the bed and Morty watches dumbly as Rick fetches a fawn-coloured duvet from the wardrobe. “This’ll be cleaner.”

Rick spreads the duvet out onto the bed and then stands back with his hands on his hips, looking pleased with himself. Morty chokes back a laugh. With infinite intelligence, the power of a god, fucking _bed-making_ leaves Rick patting himself on the back?

Morty removes the towel from around his waist. Rick averts his eyes again, causing Morty’s stomach to flutter at the courtesy. When Morty slips beneath the duvet, he realizes was too out-of-it before to really notice his injuries. So when the fabric chafes against his scrapes and bruises, Morty winces, then cringes as he braces for the string of insults from Rick.

But to Morty’s surprise, Rick is silent. As soon as Morty’s lying down, Rick strides over to Morty’s bedside and pulls the duvet up and around Morty’s shoulders.

“Y-you’re tucking me in?” Morty asks, bemused.

Rick makes a noncommittal grunt in response. He looks away and hastily grabs a box of tissues from the bedside table.

“B-back in a minute.”

Rick is in the bathroom for several minutes while Morty hugs himself inside the warm cocoon of fabric. Even surrounded by the feathery duvet and with his skin warmed from the bathwater, Morty’s receives very little comfort.

With a flush of the toilet Rick re-enters the bedroom and starts quickly turning off the lights in the suite. He then approaches the other side of the bed and strips. Morty tells himself he probably shouldn’t watch -- it’s not like it’s anything he hasn’t seen before anyway -- but he can’t seem to stop himself. Thankfully, Rick isn’t looking at him and doesn’t notice Morty blushing when Rick turns, naked, and slides into bed next to him.

Rick switches off the bedside lamp and then snuggles down, his back to Morty.

Morty looks up at the dark ceiling. It’s strange. He feels as fatigued as ever, muscles finally relaxed from the hot bath, and drained beyond belief after the evening’s events, but without his usual nightcap Morty doesn’t think he can ever fall asleep. His mind buzzes. Rick’s right next to him but he’s also just out of reach. It should comfort Morty, right? Knowing his grandfather is right here beside him instead of agonizing over his whereabouts.  But instead of reassuring, it’s torturous having Rick so close but so far away. He needs alcohol or… _something_ to warm himself.

He turns his head to look at where the shadows conceal Rick. Morty _wants_ but can’t quite bring himself to scoot closer.

Eventually, after sleep still hasn’t come for what feels like hours and Morty’s skin has completely cooled from the hot bath, Morty rolls over into a near-foetal position facing Rick. Rick’s on his back now, his slow breathing suggesting that if he isn’t asleep, he’s very close to it. Gingerly, bravely, and trembling more than he would have liked, Morty reaches out and trails his fingers down his grandfather’s arm.

Rick’s skin is warm and when he doesn’t stir from the initial contact, Morty’s fingers trail further down to Rick’s hand and he gently interlaces their fingers together. The platonic but intimate motion doesn’t quite ease Morty’s discomfort, but it’s enough to make him feel at least a little better.

It just helps knowing his grandfather is _there_.

Morty wriggles a little closer. Without the warmth of liquor in his system, the night’s chill strips his body temperature and leaves him tiny and shivering beneath the duvet. Morty wishes he steal just a little bit of his grandfather’s body temperature. Just a _little_. Just enough to take the edge off…

“Morty.”

Morty stops breathing.

Rick lets out a grumpy-sounding sigh and pulls his hand out of Morty’s. Morty has just enough time to feel hurt for a fraction of a second before Rick rolls over to face him. In the dark, Morty can’t see Rick’s face but he imagines Rick’s looking down at him with a familiar frustrated scowl.

Morty shrinks back.

Flushing with embarrassment Morty’s mind races as he fumbles about for the appropriate thing to do or say. Finally, Morty blurts out a very timid, very apologetic:

“I-I’m cold.”

But there’s more to it isn’t there?

There’s coldness and then there’s _this._ A hollow chill right inside Morty’s very core where is soul used to be. Morty feels like every part of him is breaking. Alcohol doesn’t just warm, it soothes. Without it, Morty is aware of his bones digging against the mattress, the aching of his empty stomach, the slowing down then rapid speeding up of his heart…

_(Help me!)_

Rick lets out an annoyed grunt. Morty swallows.

“S-scoot over, Morty,” Rick says curtly. “And turn away from me.”

Feeling more than a little wounded, Morty does as he’s told. He moves almost to the other end of the mattress in his haste to get away, to hide from both Rick and his own desperation. Morty’s jaw clenches as his hipbones scrape brutally against the bottom sheet.

Then he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“N-Not _that_ far, Morty. Jeez…” there’s amusement in Rick’s tone and Morty’s stomach flips as he stills.

Then Morty feels the mattress dip behind him as Rick edges closer. The fabric of Morty’s pillow pulls as Rick positions his head just above Morty’s.

Morty’s breath catches as Rick edges _even closer_ and then, stopping Morty’s heart entirely, Rick’s bare chest is pressed tightly against Morty’s back and Morty is suddenly excruciatingly aware of his own nakedness as Rick removes the hand from Morty’s shoulder and coils it protectively around Morty’s exposed midriff.

Morty’s heart is thudding with a giddy combination of self-consciousness and excitement. Ever since that day when Rick first kissed him, Morty fantasized about something like this. He’d fall asleep hugging himself, the spice of alcohol all around him, imagining his arms were Rick’s, protective and possessive and gentle all at once… and then he’d wake up hungover, tenting beneath the sheets and with self-disgust in his throat.

“This better?” Rick whispers. His breath is a soft tickle against the tip of Morty’s ear.

“Y-Yeah…” Morty huffs and realizes with some embarrassment that he’s panting. Rick chuckles under his breath and Morty feels his face grow uncomfortably hot as arousal pools at his groin.

“Tomorrow,” Rick murmurs, “we -- we’ll see about getting some food in you.”

Rick pats Morty’s stomach.

Morty _should_ feel ashamed of his skin-and-bones body and the way his stomach concaves inwards. But the way Rick’s cradling him close and caressing him so reverently, Morty’s feeling too overwhelmed to care. Sure, he wishes beyond anything that he had something more appealing to offer to Rick, but he can’t deny how badly or how long he’s wanted to be held like this. To feel adored like this.

Morty lets out a shuddering sigh and closes his eyes. He’s straddling an awkward area between serenity and excitement which, at any other time, would feel marvellous but not when he is trying to sleep. Morty fidgets and Rick backs off slightly, the hand on his stomach retreating to Morty’s hip instead. Morty stills, desperate to keep Rick close and not have him move away and rip away the warmth he so sorely needs.

So Morty keeps as still as he can. His breathing shallow, his spine stiff. Rick’s stroking Morty’s hip bone and then higher in order to caress the curve of Morty’s waist.

Morty can’t tell if Rick’s trying to be soothing or electrifying. But when Rick’s fingers trail over his stomach, creeping down to start playfully circling his navel, Morty’s breath hitches and his cock starts to fill rapidly. He bites his lip to unsuccessfully stifle a whimper and Rick pulls back once again.

Morty reaches back and grabs Rick’s wrist.

 _Don’t go!_ Morty thinks loudly, unable to speak.

Rick gets back into position spooning Morty and Morty trembles even though the embrace is so comforting. He can feel his grandfather’s frown where his forehead rests against the back of Morty’s head.

Then Rick runs his fingers experimentally over and around Morty’s hip to cup his ass cheek and Morty lets out a tell-tale moan.

Morty can hear the smirk in his grandfather’s raspy voice. “Ah,” he chuckles softly, “I get it.”

 _No!_ Morty wants to protest as he feels Rick reach around to his front.

Because Rick totally _doesn’t_ get it. Morty isn’t just horny, it’s deeper than that. It’s not the nakedness or the touching which is causing blood to flood to his dick -- those things are incidental -- it’s the fact that he’s finally safe and permitted to feel something other than emptiness or pain. It’s like the first sip of hot chocolate after a day in the snow. It’s like seeing the world in colour for the first time. It’s like turning on a light and chasing away the shadows…

It’s an almost spiritual experience and Rick _couldn’t possibly_ deign to understand something like that. Morty can already imagine Rick scoffing loudly and rolling his eyes in exasperation at Morty’s shallow sentimentality:

_‘Y-you still don’t get it do you? This isn’t special or meaningful. This is happening in an infinite --’_

Rick playfully entangles his fingers in Morty’s pubic hair before creeping lower, and Morty lets out a choked sob. And when he hears the pleased guttural sound in Rick’s throat as his fingers finally begin feeling around his swiftly filling erection, Morty’s heart finally breaks.

Morty squirms restlessly but this time Rick’s not backing off. His movements are deliberate and insistent and Morty can only lie there, trembling, and just fucked up enough to enjoy it.

Kissing was one thing. Intense, yeah, because it’s _Rick_ and everything Rick does is intense. And spooning, well, Morty _did_ say he was cold…

But now Rick is edging towards something they can’t take back.

Morty makes a reflexive move to cover his now full and throbbing erection but Rick makes a disapproving noise in his ear and gently pries Morty’s hand away. Morty doesn’t fight him. What would be the point? He wants this. _Bad_. And even though there is a part of him screaming at how wrong this is, how pathetic he is for being absolute putty in Rick’s hands, there is a louder and more desperate part of him that is crying with need.

And, after all, he _did_ tell Rick he would consent to this…

Rick’s hand moves up Morty’s length in an agonizingly slow stroke. Teasing, deliberate and careful. Morty exhales through gritted teeth as he feels his cock twitch in earnest. Rick repeats the movement, again with that same tantalizing slowness, he nuzzles behind Morty’s ear and Morty can feel Rick’s lips curve into a knowing smirk.

Bastard.

Rick _knows_ the loose hold is driving Morty insane with arousal. Knows it and _loves_ it.

Morty grunts and arches himself in an awkward attempt to thrust into Rick’s fist, but Rick won’t close his hand any further around Morty’s swollen cock, he keeps the touches unbearably light. Toying with him cruelly while Morty keens for more contact. As Morty strains for more friction against Rick’s hand he feels something nudge against the crack of his behind…

Morty stills.

Rick is _huge_.

Last time Morty was here, he could only feel it through his grandfather’s slacks. But now, without the veil of fabric between them, he can feel Rick’s full length -- smooth and fleshy and _way_ bigger than Morty could have dared imagine -- against his admittedly very small, very _virgin_ , ass.

Morty clenches his jaw.

“R-Rick?” he finally mutters.

“Mm?”

“Are… are you g-gonna…?”

There’s an awkward pause. Rick’s stopped stroking Morty’s engorged cock and is instead holding it with a possessive grip around the base. Morty’s pulse throbs against Rick’s firm hold.

“Gonna _what_ , Morty?” Rick asks. His tone mockingly light.

Morty doesn’t want to say it. He bites his lip and buries his reddened face into the pillow, a knot has gathered in his throat and he hopes Rick can’t sense that his eyes are welling with tears.

Miraculously, Rick is merciful for once.

“No.”

Morty tries not to sigh with relief. But once that initial feeling has worn off, Morty frowns, offended. “Wh-why n--”

“ _Because_ , Morty,” Rick interrupts, his voice tight with impatience. “I’d fucking _break_ you.”

Morty has no idea what to say to that.

“Let’s get you healthy,” Rick explains. _“Then…”_ he trails off.

Morty, once again, isn’t sure what to say. The shadows mask his indignant frown.

Doesn’t Rick know that Morty _is_ healthy?

How many people in Morty’s generation are obese? How many people in their family live entirely at the mercy of their vices? Can’t Rick see how In Control Morty is?

He’s always been naturally slender and a little bit lanky. If Rick paid the slightest bit of attention, he’d have noticed that.

Rick inhales deeply, as though sniffing Morty’s hair, and resumes stroking Morty’s cock. Just as long and slow, but with a firmer grip this time. Morty usually lubes up for masturbation but Rick’s fingers are surprisingly pleasant even though they’ve been calloused from years of tinkering, their skill unimpaired by their roughness.

Now that Morty’s confident his grandfather isn’t going to start spontaneously anal-fucking him, the massive cock currently nested in between Morty’s ass cheeks is arousing as hell. His cheeks twitch violently with excitement. Morty doesn’t even have to consciously clench them together…

Rick hisses when the flesh envelopes his cock and Morty can’t help grinning through his tears as Rick groans needfully against the back of his neck.

Rick’s grinding against him now, thrusting his throbbing member between Morty’s ass cheeks. Without lube, it isn’t particularly comfortable, but it isn’t bad either. And knowing he has this kind of effect on Rick is more exciting than Morty can believe. Morty bites his lip and snickers into the pillow.

Rick continues pumping Morty’s dick, firmly, deliberately, and with such tenderness and care that Morty feels something warm and wonderful deep inside where no one could ever touch or see. He hates it, wishes the swell of love for his grandfather would dim enough to enjoy this for the casual act it really is, but it’s difficult when Rick is so damn good at giving Morty what he craves…

Rick drags his skilled fingers to the very end of Morty’s dick and then back down again, pulling back his foreskin every-so-gently before letting it fold back again. Morty lets out a soft whimper.

“Yeah? You like that, baby?” Rick’s sly whisper is in Morty’s ear, in his head, the silkiness of his voice shooting a pulse of pleasure straight into Morty’s cock, leaving him gasping.

Morty can’t speak. He nods vigorously and Rick jerks him closer before removing the hand wrapped around Morty’s cock. Morty lets out a disappointed keening sound which makes him cringe with embarrassment, but before Morty can say or do anything, Rick’s placed a gentle but insistent hand under his chin, forcing Morty’s face to tilt upwards so the back of his head is leaning against Rick’s collarbone, Rick carefully eases his hand around Morty’s exposed throat, keeping his head up.

Morty heart thuds as he lies prone and weak against his grandfather, no longer In Control of anything, he’s completely at Rick’s mercy. It’s frightening, exhilarating, and reassuring all at once. Morty could weep for the conflicted emotions all clambering to the forefront of his frazzled mind as Rick carefully repositions him so he’s forced to lie flat against Rick’s chest.

Slightly humiliating as it is, Morty’s cock throbs with the pleasure of it. And when Rick murmurs a quiet “Good boy” in Morty’s ear, Morty melts with the praise, his whole body shuddering with pleasurable tingles. Morty groans as he feels something leak from his quivering head.

He’s never been this turned on before. He didn’t know he _could be_.

And when Rick takes hold of Morty’s cock with his other hand and gently twists, Morty feels a jolt of sexual pleasure so sudden and intense it’s almost painful. He grunts and attempts to thrust into Rick’s fist. But of course, Rick is the one In Control tonight, and he loosens his hand ever-so-slightly in the wake of Morty’s thrusts. Morty clicks his teeth in frustration.

Rick’s lips are behind Morty’s ear. “Keep still.”

It takes all of Morty’s willpower to do it but he manages. _Just._

Rick rewards him immediately. His hand wraps around Morty’s cock and he starts jacking him properly this time. Morty squeezes his eyes shut. It feels too good to bear. He fails to stifle a moan and Rick gently kisses the side of his neck.

“M-Make as much noise as you like,” Rick says kindly.

And Morty does.

With wave after wave of gratitude and need coursing through him, the intensity becomes almost painful. He holds still but lets out each shuddering moan with as much force as he can dignify.

Morty cries out in surprise when in one swift smooth movement, Rick throws off the duvet and at the same time flips them both over so that Rick is lying on his back with Morty cradled against his chest. Rick smooths Morty’s sweat-slicked hair back from his face in a gesture that Morty can’t decide is soothing or dominating and Morty gulps nervously when Rick resumes pumping his dick, his other hand slung possessively over Morty’s chest, holding him tight against him.

Rick’s somehow even harder now and he’s thrusting up into the cleavage of Morty’s ass. Morty experimentally clenches his cheeks together and feels his grandfather’s cock twitch violently.

 _“Fuck!”_ Rick hisses and Morty swells with pride at the strain in Rick’s voice. Morty clenches again and this time Rick moves his hand from Morty’s chest to grab a fistful of hair, pulling Morty’s head back against his shoulder.

With a low growl, Rick sinks his teeth into Morty’s neck and Morty yelps at the sudden sting. The sheer _possessiveness_ of the act sending Morty into a thrashing moaning frenzy. He knows from the way Rick’s worrying and sucking on the bite that he’ll be left marked for days.

Pain should never feel this good.

 _Nothing_ should feel this good.

Rick drags his tongue across the stinging side of Morty’s throat and the pain sends an electrifying shiver straight down Morty’s spine into his dick which promptly leaks enough precum to cover Morty’s stomach.

Rick laughs quietly and nibbles affectionately at Morty’s ear.

Morty flushes with embarrassment and tries to quickly turn his head away but Rick places a dominating hand around Morty’s throat and forces him to stay put, his head resting heavily against Rick’s collarbone.

Morty blinks back tears. He didn’t realize how good it could feel to hand the reigns to someone else like this. To just lie back and _trust._ He clenches his ass again and Rick’s grip slackens ever-so-slightly while he groans into Morty’s hair.

It’s too much.

Too perfect.

Morty’s abdominal muscles contract, heart thudding so loud he swears Rick must hear it or at least _feel_ it, his dick throbs angrily and he grits his teeth as the waves of pleasure pull back…

“Rick!”

“S’okay, I know.”

“Rick! I…” and without thinking about it Morty begs, “C-can I?”

“You may,” Rick permits and that’s it, Rick’s strong, reassuring voice is the thing that finally lets Morty loose. He almost screams with the intensity and Rick is also moaning and swearing in his ear with his own climax. Morty’s soaring. High with ecstasy while his cock swiftly empties its load all over his stomach and the sheet beneath him, Rick’s own fluids coating his back.

When it’s over, they’re both panting, lying sticky and naked on the sheets that are now even more ruined than before. But even though Morty doesn’t care, Rick drags both their bodies over to the unsoiled area of the bed before throwing the duvet back over them both. He wraps his arms tightly around Morty and Morty melts into the embrace, still panting heavily.

Morty’s face is wet with tears and sweat from the intensity of the act and he is grateful for the mask of darkness. If Rick has noticed them, he tactfully doesn’t comment, and simply holds him. They don’t speak, don’t move, and when Morty finally catches his breath, his heart slowing down to a normal rhythm, sleep finally embraces him like a long-lost friend.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not The End 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who helped motivate me with comments and kudos! I am truly humbled.
> 
> Stay tuned for Part 2: Contraindications. Should take me a month or two... ;)


End file.
